


Preexisting Knowledge

by agetwellcard



Series: Burning Down Cathedrals [2]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one where Brendon's a famous musician and he gets Ryan's band signed and where they don't literally burn down cathedrals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part to I Wouldn't Call It Stalking. Make sure you've read that.

I shed my jacket, truly missing the warming sun. Turns out, on the other side of the world, it’s fucking cold in August. I breathe in the smell of California. Something I’ve barely noticed now that I started traveling more often is that California just smells different than everywhere else. London, Brazil, hell even Texas doesn’t come anywhere near how good it feels to breathe in here. It reminds me of home, which is exactly where I’m headed. 

I look around for a familiar car, my eyes jumping from hood to hood of colored cars. I throw on the sunglasses I was peer pressured into buying when we were doing festivals outside even if it was freezing. I finally notice the right car. I smile a little to myself, jogging over to it the best I can. I have my giant tour suitcase, even more stuffed than it was before I left, and my usual black backpack. I shove the suitcase in the back seat then quickly hop in the passenger seat. 

“Ryan!” my mom squeals excitedly, wrapping her arms around me. It’s actually a pretty common greeting for me lately. There’s a melody of honking when my mom’s car doesn’t move. 

She’s still the same as she was before I left: trying. We’ve really repaired our severed relationship since we both bonded over heartbreak. There is still something between us. It’s like a plague that won’t budge. If we both try our hardest to act normal and not like we’re somehow messed up then we usually do okay, but, hey, we are related so it makes sense. 

“Hey.” I say, putting forth the most enthusiasm I have with only three hours of sleep. 

She finally starts to move the car away from the busy airport. She keeps stealing glances at me as she does so. “So, how was it?” she asks, an array of emotions splashed onto her usually dull face. 

I bite the inside of my mouth for a few seconds. I’m never good at this part. “It was great!” I tell her, trying to re-account for the past few months. “I didn’t think we had, like, any fans over there but we do. The meet-and-greets were crazy and the food was delicious and just everything was really cool.” 

It was my first time out of the country and our first international tour. Since we all graduated extremely early, they chalked up an entire tour for us. All of these crazy venues in places that I had never heard of. It was beautiful and better than any graduation gift someone could have given me. 

“That’s great.” she muses. “Oh, and fans have literally been coming to the house. I don’t wanna know how they know our address, but some of them left early birthday gifts for you.” 

“Really? I mean it’s not for a few weeks…” 

“Ryan, your birthday is next week. And why aren’t you concerned about them knowing where you live?” 

“Is it really? What’s the date?” I think out loud, bringing my phone out from my backpack. The twenty-third. Where the hell did the days go? “And I’m not too concerned. These kids are like detectives with internet access.” 

“Funny.” she says sarcastically as I snicker to myself. I think anything is funny right now. 

I watch familiar territory fly by and realize I’m finally home. The first thing on the agenda: sleep. I managed to get some on the flight home, but only for a little while before we had some awful turbulence that apparently Alex can sleep through but not me. And I’m sure switching all these time zones so quickly has fucked up my sleeping schedule, especially now that I’m back in America. 

“Your father’s coming by next week.” my mom tells me, a slight edge to her voice. “For you birthday.” 

“Great.” I say through gritted teeth. 

“Ryan, you need to be civil with him. He’s still your father even if we’re not together anymore.” she disciplines me. 

I loll my head back on the car seat and grip the side door handle. Yeah, sure, he’s my dad but I don’t consider him that anymore. He’s just some man who visits me every so often with cold eyes and disappointment seeping from his mouth. Nothing ever got resolved with us, either. Hasn't apologized to me about the blowup in regard to the pictures of Brendon and me, hasn't said a thing about this year’s fight over Thanksgiving dinner, hasn't even tried to talk about the call I got after I got in trouble for underage drinking, hasn’t tried to figure why I got in a fight early senior year, and the list goes on. He’s just someone that I try to forget exists on most days. 

“We’ll go out for dinner.” my mom presses forward with the topic. “It’ll be nice.” Just the way she says ‘nice’ is a great indicator that she isn’t very thrilled to see him, either. I’ve gotten over their whole divorce, I just don’t think she has. 

“Okay.” I say, not wanting to make her angry at me so quickly. 

While it’s very easy for us to fall into a loving mother-son duo, it’s extremely easy for us to fall out of it. We end up in quite a few nonsensical fights when I’m home. They’re always such pointless fights, too. We both just have so much damn pride and refuse to let the other win. Like mother, like son.

I try to think of something else to say to her but I have run out. I would tell her some stories from the tour but most of them involve alcohol, musical bonding she won’t understand, or awkward interview questions I don’t really want to repeat to my mother. I’ll save those for Jon, since we tend to hang out when I get back home. We spent all the rest of my junior year together. Honestly, if it wasn’t for him I don’t think I would have made it out of there sane. Everyone, and I mean everyone, knew about the pictures between Brendon and me and weren’t afraid to ask the most intruding questions ever. Oh high school, thank you for being gone and away from my life forever. 

“It’s good to have you back, Ryan.” my mom says, a small smile on my lips. I feel kind of bad for her because I don’t think I’m as great as she makes me sound. 

 

“I don’t believe you.” Jon laughs, taking a sip off the coffee that’s undeniably burning his fingers. “There’s no fucking way you did that.” 

“I did!” I yell, standing my ground. “It was awesome, too. Like, everything slows down and, I swear, everything just makes sense.” 

“Ryan, you doing weed is like the equivalent of…” he pauses, as if he’s not sure what to even compare it to. “It’s like Gabe actually going to law school.” 

“Hah. There is no way he will.” I mumble. 

When I came back to school after my first tour, Gabe was just a giant tool. He was basically the center for making fun of the school’s new homosexual musician. If it wasn’t for Jon, I would have probably tried to beat the kid on multiple occasions. It was only once, though. But Jon still talks to him. He claims that just because I hate him doesn’t mean he does. Jon’s just too loyal to stop being friends with him. I guess I kind of understand.

“Told me last week he’s going to.” Jon informs me, now tracing the lid of his cup as if he’s contemplating something. I look down at the lid to see if maybe there’s some kind of magic I’m missing out on. Nope, nothing. “Brendon and I talked.” 

I suddenly see why Jon was silently deciding whether or not he should bring it up to me or not. “Oh.” I mumble, still staring at his coffee’s lid even if his fingers have stopped their motions. I don’t bother trying to pick up the eyesight I’m sure he is offering. He knows how I feel about this. 

The thing is, after I rejected Brendon and sent him spiraling out of my life, he was still there. I still had to hear his songs, still had to see him in advertisements, still had to be around him occasionally. We can talk civilly now but there’s still this sadness that borders all of our quiet, short conversations. Even after the first time I sent him away, he tried again. At that point it sounded way too easy to just let him in again. I missed it, I knew I did. I missed our easy-going relationship and us just being friends. I just couldn’t bring myself to let him in again. 

Most of the time, once people leave me for something new, they don’t come back. Brendon’s the first that has tried to mend things and start again. I’m not sure how to even react to it, so I ignore him. Not that any of his tries to reconcile whatever we had is recent. I haven’t spoken with him since before I graduated, when he and I were needed for a commercial advert. 

I like to think of Brendon as a twinkle in the stars that I labeled ‘People who are better forgotten’. There’s no doubt in my head that he confused me, let me think that there was no way a straight relationship will work out for me ever again. I haven’t had a shot at one yet but only because I have been busy with the band. I don’t think I really want to get into another relationship right now, anyway. 

“You talk to him a lot, though.” I shrug, trying to not look like it matters to me. There is still something in me that wants to know how he’s doing. Was he as beat up by our relationship at first, like me? I don’t think I’ll ever know. Probably best that way. 

“I do,” he says. “It’s just that he asked about you.” 

I look up at him, expecting some smile or joke, but he looks serious. “Why does he care what I’m up to? He can just figure that shit out if he goes online.” 

“I don’t know. I told him that you just came back from a tour, but I don’t think he cared about your music. He was more concentrating on, like, you.” 

“What did you say?” 

“You were fine. Happy.” 

It was true. After we stopped talking, I was kind of a mess. It was bad enough I got made fun of all the time from people at school, but then I was freaking out because I missed Brendon. He was too much of a constant for me during the tour and suddenly having him gone kind of made me crazy. We had another tour after I graduated and suddenly everything was okay again. I would perform the songs I knew by heart night after night and it slowly recovered what was fucked up in me. 

There are a couple moments of silence that I fill by taking a long drink from my coffee. The first time I’ve talked to Jon face to face and suddenly we’re silent. 

“What? You’re not fine, Ryan?” Jon asks suddenly. I look back up to him, a confused smile on my face. 

“I never said that. I am happy. I mean I have a month break where I don’t have to do anything. Unlike you, having to go to college and all.” I laugh a little at him. 

“You just got lucky.” 

“Mm, I did, didn’t I?” I smile, lifting my coffee into the air mockingly. “Thanks, Brendon.” 

Jon gives me an apprehensive laugh, like he’s worried about the way I sparingly joke about him. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need him to worry. “So, when does our big celebrity leave again? A month?” 

I try to figure out what he’s talking about until I let out a hollow laugh. “Let’s not refer to me as that.” I tell him, not wanting to sound pretentious but as the words come out they make me sound like I have authority. Jon doesn’t seem fazed. “I don’t know, though. They’ll probably pull me into another tour soon enough.” 

“I thought you liked touring?” Jon asks. 

I instantly think back to right before my first tour. Brendon and me talking in the car before my first show in front of hundreds. When Brendon sounded exactly like me and I was the confused outsider. I mean, Jon probably won’t ever experience touring so it’s complicated to even explain to him. “I love touring, it’s just we’ve been doing it constantly.” 

“And you like to do nothing, you lazy ass.” 

“That’s great, too.” I say, finishing off my coffee, giving Jon what I hope is a pretentious smile.


	2. Chapter 2

It will never get old, waking up in my own bed. I swear, it’s like the blankets aren’t itchy and I’m not banging my head every red light and my body just knows I’m home. No one even woke me up for an interview or show preparation. No, I just get to sleep until my body decided it’s time for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight streaming in from my window. I sigh into my pillow and just lay there for a long time. I know I won’t fall back asleep but it’s just nice to pretend.

It has occurred to me that I could probably just rent my own apartment and not have to be surrounded by my mom all the time. But I really like having homemade food when I get back from places and I’m not home enough to enjoy a place of my own. I don’t think my mom really minds me being here for the time being, anyway.  
I slowly get up and find my way upstairs, hoping to find something to eat. It’s only when my mom pops out of nowhere and pulls me into a hug do I realize what day it is. 

“Happy Birthday, Ryan!” she screams into my ear. 

“Thanks.” I mumble groggily. For a little moment there, it was almost like I was bordering sleep’s edges, but after she yelled at me, I’m wide awake. 

“I didn’t want to wake you because I know you like sleeping in.” she tells me. I give her a strange look. I don’t remember telling her that, but doesn’t everyone like to sleep in? “The thing is, though, now your father is twenty minutes away.” 

“Oh.” I say in a small voice, my stomach already curling at the thought of seeing him. It’s probably extremely unhealthy the way I think of him. I decide that I don’t want breakfast anymore. “Well I’m going to take a shower then.” 

I retreat back to my room, finding a towel and clothes and then head for the bathroom. I try to take a short shower but then I get caught up singing softly to myself as I put shampoo in my hair. When I hear the front door opening over the sound of running water, I know I need to hurry up. I towel off my hair and get changed, staring at myself in the mirror for a few moments. I take out my razor and carefully shave, my face instantly looking younger again. My mom keeps telling me I look older or different but I don’t see it. I just see this gangly kid who’s not sure what to think of his reflection. 

I leave the bathroom, steam rolling out. My admiration for the way it puffs out into the cooled air is short lived, my dad’s voice pulling me out of my trance. I sigh and make my way upstairs, suddenly feeling like I don’t deserve to see my parents. Why would my dad take a three hour drive here just for my birthday? 

“Ryan.” my dad says the second I walk into the living room. My parents are seated on separate couches, already looking hostile. 

I put on one of my cheery faces that I’ve used on quite a few fans. “Hey, Dad.” 

I don’t know what to say. I haven’t spoken to him in at least five months. I think we both pretend our cell phones are broken. I just stare at the man that I call ‘Dad’. I try not to realize the way he scratches his head in almost the identical way I do. 

“We should probably get going now, don’t want to be late for the reservations!” my mom says, breaking this weird silence we were all caught in. 

I nod my head and we make our way out the door. I’m not sure whose car we’re taking so I wait for them to deicide. I only watch them helplessly as they seem to argue it out with their eyes. It’s almost like they’re trying not to fight out loud. I thought the whole divorce thing was supposed to stop this sort of stuff. 

“Okay,” I say, feeling more confident than I used to, “we’re taking Mom’s car.” 

They both nod and I notice my mom flash him a smug smile. Mature. It looks like something I would do to Alex when I get first shower after an unusually warm show. I sit in the backseat, hoping this is the extent of disagreement. We make our way to some restaurant I have never been to. It’s especially nice and I feel underdressed. I’m not sure why neither of my parents asked me to put on something nicer. I have an array of nice clothes that I won’t wear again because some stylist told me it’s unprofessional. 

We get seated, the waitress recognizing me straight away. She doesn’t ask for a picture or autograph, though. I’m grateful for it, too. It seems weird for that stuff to happen when my parents are around. I’m looking through the menu, silently trying to figure how these French meals are pronounced, when my dad pipes up. 

“So, how is your band doing?” 

I force myself to look up at him, trying not to look amazed. He never asks. I still think he connects my whole music career with me being a flaming homosexual to the public or something. I’m really not one anymore. It was just Brendon who changed that for a little while. “Um, good.” I inform him, my voice sounding a little shaky to even my own ears. “We just got back from our first world tour and it was really cool.” I hate saying ‘world tour’; it just sounds so successful on my tongue. 

“That’s...good.” he nods hesitantly. It’s like our words are walking on eggshells. “I went to the store a couple weeks ago and you were on a magazine and it was so strange.” 

I smile sheepishly. I silently wonder which magazine it was. I’ve been on quite a few, but the only one that would ever bother me if he saw was the one of Brendon and me. It’s a good thing we’re not together anymore. I can’t imagine them being in the same room. 

“Our little Ryan taking on the world.” my mom says and I can practically see the nostalgic home videos playing in her eyes. 

“Little?” I snort. “I’m nineteen now.” I’m about ready to point out that I’m just a little closer to being of legal drinking age but I don’t think my parents will appreciate that as much as my band does. 

“Still young.” my dad tells me. 

When the waitress comes back with our drinks, she takes our orders. I resort to just pointing at the name on the worn page of the menu. The older women smiles a little but writes down the order nonetheless. Our food is given to us shortly after that and the table suddenly turns into scraping of glass plates and forks. Us eating is a pleasant excuse to why we don’t have to talk. I try to eat my food properly but the noodles keep falling off my fork and I really hope my parents aren’t watching me eating. I grew up with them always scrutinizing my manners. The thing is, when you’re given a bag of chips after a long show, you tend to forget about everything you’ve been taught and just eat those things by the handfuls. 

I feel the need to speak up after a while. “So, Dad, what have you been up to lately?” 

He essentially reciprocates my confusion onto why we care about each other’s doings but soon enough answers. “Working at a new law firm.” 

I nod, having absolutely no idea what to say to that. I barely know anything of what he does as a responsible adult and I might never fully know. “Must be...fun?” 

He raises an eyebrow at me, looking displeased at my lack of reply. “We all can’t have the time of our life like you, Ryan.” He sounds so fucking bitter and it drives me crazy. It’s like he’s jealous that his son got the life he wanted. 

I give him a cold look as my mom finally starts talking again. “You did say he was young and if you’re young you might as well live it up because it doesn’t last long.” She sounds just as bitter as my dad but for different reasons. I look back down at my half-eaten tray of noodles and some unidentified pile of fluff, trying to not look angry at them both. 

“You might not want to live it up too much.” my dad says, giving me a dirty look. It seems out of place for the conversation and day, in general. 

“He’s only gotten in trouble with the police once, George.” my mom says, talking about me like I’m not here. And honestly, even what she’s saying sounds kind of ridiculous to me and I wish she wouldn’t have brought that up. 

“Do you hear yourself?” my dad asks. “He was incredibly drunk and got caught! He shouldn’t have even been drinking!”

I would point out that I wasn’t technically planning on going out into public, but it seems wrong for the time. But basically, when I was ridiculously drunk that night, it sounded like the coolest thing ever to go try to start a flash mob at midnight. 

“It could have been worse.” my mom shrugs. Suddenly, I know why I like her more. 

“Yes, and getting ridiculed at work for my son’s preferences was a great time.” 

I suddenly feel like he’s struck an awful cord in me. The whole picture thing was just so goddamn unnecessary. I think I will hear about it until I die. The public is just so mental when it comes to celebrities’ sexualities. I’m just a person and who they take an interest in and it really isn’t any of their business. 

“He can like who he wants.” my mom says fiercely. I only falter a little when my mom stands up for me. She does that a lot when I tear myself down about my whole confused preferences. I just feel so damn small, like suddenly I can’t say anything. 

“Okay!” he says, an over-exaggerated hand gesture accompanying it. “But the whole fucking world doesn’t need to know about it.” 

“You guys!” I suddenly say, bothered by the way I feel like I’m disappearing with ever word. “That’s over with.” 

They look over at me, as if they are now just realizing I’m not gone. They purse their lips at the same time and look down at their food. I wonder if that’s shame. My mom whispers some sort of an apology but I hear nothing from my dad. That’s the only one that really mattered to me. I don’t act too disappointed. 

“We can leave.” I mutter, everyone else is done with their meals but me. 

They both nod and they pay the bill quickly and suddenly we’re leaving the restaurant, the waitress feeling the need to comment on my music one last time. I give her one of those smiles that I reserve just for fans and find my way out of the restaurant, my parents at my heels. 

When I get outside I notice the camera before I notice the man behind it. Of course. Why not add pictures of our fine experience tonight on the homepage of some shitty gossip site. I try not to play that game where I guess what the headline will be. There’s a few more that snap photos of us, my dad looking irritated behind me. I look back ahead and jump into the car quickly, their words revolving in my head. 

“Ryan! How was your meal?” 

Flash.

“Status on the new album?” 

Flash.

“Are these your parents?”

Flash.

“What’s wrong, Ryan?” 

Flash.

“Look!” 

 

My mom made me cupcakes. They’re spread over the counter, looking pristine in their specific colored order. I pick one up by the bottom, the tips of my fingers still getting frosting on them. I smile and take a bite, remembering why I like my mom’s cooking so much. My parents do the same as me, choosing their own color.   
My dad’s staying in one of our guest rooms for the night. Says he doesn’t want to leave quite yet. They’ve calmed down a little. That was only after I had to explain to them that the paparazzi really only want pictures to sell and they weren’t trying to breach our privacy. They kind of are but they don’t need to know that. 

“Thanks, Mom.” I tell her, my voice still a little cold. “These are really nice.” 

I shouldn’t be angry at her because if anything she was just helping me out. I just can’t stand how they pretend like I’m not there. Maybe a year ago I could have been okay with it but it just doesn’t seem fine anymore. 

Thankfully, I hear knocking on our front door and I set down the half-eaten cupcake on the counter. “That’s probably Alex.” I shout, even though my parents aren’t that far away from me. I jolt down the stairs, glad to get away from my parents for a little. I open the door, expecting a wild-haired Alex Gaskarth. He told me that he’d hopefully show up today and play a song he’s been working on and celebrate my birthday. 

“Ryan!” a familiar voice rings into my ears. I look at his face for a few seconds, half contemplating whether or not I should just close the door. “Happy birthday! I brought a gift!” 

“A gift?” I repeat. 

Brendon pushes me aside slightly, making ample room for his small body to slip through the crevice. Once he’s finally inside, I do the only thing that seems right at this moment, and shut the door. He looks different, his hair no longer choppy and thick looking, rather it looks more natural and shaggy. He’s not wearing any glasses, his brown eyes looking larger than I remember. 

“I know we haven’t talked in a while but it’s your birthday so I feel like that warrants a visit.” Brendon says excitedly. 

I just nod, not sure how to react to this. If it wasn’t for my tongue being sort of gone, I would point out that Brendon didn’t see me last year on my birthday. I instantly get suspicious. I just barely make out my dad at the top of the stairs. I look over and see how he’s inspecting us. He must know who Brendon is by now. I grab Brendon by his elbow, my hand instantly gravitating towards his hand but my brain telling it not to. I pull him downstairs to my room, where I promptly shut the door. I’m just glad my parents didn’t tell me to keep the door open like they used to do when I brought girls around the house. 

When we both sit down on my bed I notice Brendon looking like he wants to ask me about my parents. We both know he can’t, though. It took one incident for his trust to become nothing to me. Suddenly for the both of us, personal questions are out of reach. I think he might just be a little confused at his loss. 

I notice him eyeing the bookshelf on the side of my room. He must notice that I still have all of the Established Heroes CD’s on top of each other. I’m missing the most recent one, not really craving to own it, either. I do have the digital version on my computer. I’ve only listened through the whole thing once. It just made me angry. I knew exactly which words were Brendon’s and the album just bled heartbreak through the lyrics and countless slow songs. It was like I finally got to hear his take on our barely there relationship we had.

“Open it.” Brendon says, shrugging the small box that’s been in his hands the entire time at me. 

I take it from him, meticulously eyeing the wrapping paper and then finally pulling the ribbon undone. I slowly rip apart enough paper until I find a cardboard box with nothing labeled on it. I open one of the sides and tip it slightly so the contents slide out. It’s a leather-bound notebook, the pages already looking worn. There’s a pen to accompany it, matching the color of the leather. It looks particularly fancy. 

“I know it’s not much but you like writing so…” he trails off. 

I eye him, my insides hurting a little. Somehow he has weaseled himself back into my fortress of thoughts. I’m worried because everything is made of glass and he’s weighing it down and making things shatter in my head. “No,” I finally speak, “it’s great, really. Just, uh, don’t get offended, but why are you here?” 

The edges of his lips curl up into a smile when he realizes I have commended him on his gift choosing abilities, but straighten out when he starts to answer me. “I do honestly care about your birthday, Ryan. It’s just that, well, I have something to talk to you about.” I nod my head uneasily, a signal for him to go forward. “I was in Chicago for a while and I took a few acting classes and it was really great because I haven’t taken those since I was younger. Anyway, I was approached by the director who wanted to be in this TV show and I was really excited but then he mentioned you and said everything would be, like, a million times better if I had my infamous sidekick in the show as well. I know that you don’t act but you just seem like a natural, I mean, you have a good memory and–”

“What?” I say, needing him to clarify things. “Are you asking me to act with…you?” I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh but I might as well be honest with him. 

“Yeah.” he nods his head quickly. “Come on! It would be awesome. Like, I understand that you still probably hate me but–”

“I don’t hate you.” I interrupt him again. While I’m still kind of upset he came to my house to pitch this idea, I honestly don’t hate him. I was angry at him for a long time but now it seems silly to hold that grudge against him. 

Brendon smiles brightly at me. “Oh.” he ducks his head a little, his smile only slightly dulling. “I mean, I know that we can’t go back to the way we were, but I kind of…miss having you as a friend, Ryan.” He looks up partway through the sentence, like his eyes will convey his sincerity. They kind of do, though. I give him props because I can only imagine that was difficult to say. I wouldn’t want to be the first to admit something like that. 

I nod a little, not sure if I should admit that I do miss even our silly friendship at times. “I’ll think about it, okay?” I tell him, deciding against telling him anything. He looks a little disappointed. I just look away. 

He stands up walking to the door and at first I think he’s just going to leave, upset at me or something. Suddenly, he turns around, a soft smile on his lips. It’s almost identical to the first time he came to my house and asked me to drive him to school. He just looks older and my feelings are different. 

“Hope you have a good birthday, Ryan.”


	3. Chapter 3

When I was younger and still getting guitar lessons from my dad, he would sometimes take out an old looking electric guitar and play things with me. He would smile as he plucked strings even though the guitar wasn’t even plugged into an amp so it wasn't that great sounding. He’d play things that were unfamiliar to my ears and I always wondered why he never taught those songs to me. 

I’d watch with my young, curious eyes as he pulled out folded paper from his guitar case and he’d start reading them with the same smile on his face each time. He’d then start singing them with a low, quiet voice and I always marveled at it. He never sang unless we had guitars out. It was almost as if he liked having the company of soft chords, liked having a guard from his gravelly voice. I think that was something I picked up on, wanting an instrument there so it can distract from my sometimes irritatingly untrained voice. 

Sometimes he’d play the second part to a song we both knew. I loved the feeling of togetherness we had. It was like suddenly the gaps in my part were filled and I wasn’t alone; I had someone else there for me. That probably contributed onto why I wanted to be part of a band so much. Well, that and when I was younger I just thought bands were badass.

My favorite thing to do with him was to try to write a song. It was always dominated by him, who could write sheet music and understood the construction of songs at that point in time. I was just along for the ride, learning quickly. I still know some of them, play them when I’m feeling nostalgic. I can only imagine that my dad actually really helped me.

Sometimes, though, the negatives block out the positives.

 

“Fuck,” Alex says, distaste painting his face as he plucks a string on the guitar, “this is so out of tune.” 

“This one is too.” Jack mutters. Alex and I look over at him and realize he’s playing a pink acoustic guitar that has glitter doused all over it. We just laugh a little as Jack shrugs and starts playing a small tune. 

Being the strange group of musicians we are, our hangout for today is a local Guitar Center. They have walls and walls of shiny electric guitars and a whole room full of glossy acoustics. People have slowly started to notice us but keep to the other side of the acoustic room. It’s almost like they are scared to bother us while we mess around. 

“I should learn the chords for a ukulele.” I say more to myself, staring intently at a row of them. 

“When will you ever need to play that?” Alex inquires, looking up from the guitar that he continues to strum and switch chords on. 

“Dunno,” I shrug, my eyes drifting away from the ukuleles and back to the Gibson on the wall. “Maybe for a song or something.”

For my birthday, my parents gave me a generous amount of money. In the past I probably would have been overwhelmed and excited trying to find something to buy because I honestly can’t save money. Now, it just feels superfluous. I have money. I kind of hoped my parents would find a small gift that meant something. I can’t be an ungrateful dick about this all, though, so that’s why I'm trying to decide on which new guitar to buy. 

I pick up the guitar I have been staring at for a while, the neck fitting nicely around my hand. It looks interesting and vintage and usually the looks are what sell me on guitars. I find an abandoned pick and strum a little, smiling to myself. I instantly know this is the one. Each string rings out perfectly crisp and this is the kind of guitar I wish I could have gotten when I was younger. While it is more expensive than any other guitar I have purchased and my parents will probably scold me later on for it, I get that excited feeling in my stomach. 

“I think we have one of those on tour.” Jack mutters. 

“I’m going to get this one.” I tell them, kind of ignoring Jack. 

“Lemme see!” Alex comes over and holds out a hand. I reluctantly hand it to him by the neck and he takes it, sitting down next to me. His fingers sweep over the fret and I can recognize what he’s playing easily. He nods, obviously impressed by the sound. “Better bring it on tour so I can use it.” he smiles, handing it back to me. 

We spend some more time there, looking through the array of guitars and me second guessing my choice. In the end, though, I do agree upon the acoustic and ask someone to get me one from the back. While we are waiting for the employee to come back with it, Jack and I watch as Alex gets change for a dollar bill and gets a few four gum balls out of the machines by the door. Every time he inserts a coin, he looks back to us, a smile on his face. 

“Maturity is his high point.” Jack mumbles, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“At least you don’t have to spend every waking minute with him.” I joke along, nodding tiredly as Alex starts to come back with them. 

“I don’t know,” Jack says, turning to my face. “I think that would be kind of nice.” 

I just give him a smile and stand to retrieve one of the gum balls that Alex has in the palm of his hand. The thing is, Jack and Alex are kind of inseparable lately. During the entire tour I had to listen to Alex drone on and on about how he wanted to hang out with Jack. Every time I would give him a sharp look and remind him that at least he’s not single. 

The employee comes back with a large box and I pay for it with my semi-new credit card. I lug it outside and into the back of Alex’s car and we all pile in. The second the car starts there is music playing and I feel at home. It gets turned down when we exit the parking lot. 

“So Ryan,” Alex says and I instantly don’t like his apprehensiveness. “You never told me why Brendon came to your house.” 

“Wait, he’s back?” Jack asks, twisting his body to look at me from the passenger seat. 

I try to understand what he’s asking, my brain wanting to shut out any thoughts of him. “I mean, were not–” 

“No,” Jack shakes his head, obviously not trying to ask about my relationship status with Brendon. “He’s back from Chicago? He didn’t even tell me.” 

“I guess. He just came over and tried to get me to do some TV show with him.” I say, leaving out the gift part. 

“What?” Jack and Alex say in unison. 

I try not to laugh at them as I reply. “I don’t really know that much. He just told me that a director said it would be better if we were together, which I kind of understand, but why wouldn’t Brendon just drop the idea? It’s not like we’re super close anymore.” 

“Maybe he’ll get paid more.” Alex shrugs from the front seat, turning down my road. 

“I don’t think Brendon really needs the money.” Jack points out. 

“Wait, he came on your birthday?” Alex asks, flicking his eyes from the road to the rearview mirror.

“Yeah.” I say, feeling like I just answered something wrongly. I watch as Alex and Jack both exchange looks. I can’t see their faces but I know something’s not right. “What?” 

“Did he bring a present?” Jack now asks. 

“Yes…” I say, not understanding why he’s asking this. “But what does that have to do with anything?” 

“What was it?” Alex shoots. 

“Just a notebook– wait, why does this matter?” 

They both get silent, making me angry. We turn into my driveway but I refuse to get out of the car until someone explains it to me. I cross my arms over my chest and watch them both do that stupid look exchange and then Alex turns around slightly. 

“Maybe Brendon still likes you.” Alex tells me, like it’s nothing. “I mean, you did reject him.” 

“It’s been, like, a year!” I say, suddenly unfolding my hands and sitting up straight. 

“You should have seen how long he missed William. Not to mention, Bren was shit after you rejected him.” Jack tells me. “This does sound like typical hopeful-Brendon.”

“You guys are no help.” I roll my eyes. “Bye.” 

I grab my guitar box and get out of Alex’s car, a flicker of a smile on my lips when they let out obnoxious goodbyes that I’m pretty sure my neighbors hear. I’m not actually angry at them, just slightly annoyed. I know they’re trying to help or whatever but they know that’s the last thing I want to hear. I got over Brendon already. I don’t need him to come back and make more trouble for me. 

My door is unlocked so I let myself in and go directly downstairs to my room. I start opening my guitar like it’s Christmas morning. It’s cradled in foam and the strings look new and not worn out like my others. Its body has no fingerprints or scratches on the fine wood. I quickly take it out of the box and set it in my lap. I silently admire the sleek shine of the side of the frets and gently slide a finger down it. I make it sure it isn’t completely out of tune then just start playing whatever comes to my mind. 

In the middle of one of the new songs that Alex, Dallon, and I were working on half-heartedly, there is a knock on my door. I snap open my eyes just in time to find my dad tinkering with the doorknob and finding his way into my room. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. He sits in the chair of my desk and must notice the box. “Is that new?” 

I’m about to make a sarcastic retort about how ‘no, I just saved the box’ but I don’t when I realize my dad is genuinely interested in what I’m doing. “Yeah, got it with the birthday money.” Well, part of it. 

“It’s nice.” he nods his head, his eyes soaring through my room. They stop when it gets to the two electric guitars still stuffed in their gig bags from tour. I haven’t even taken them out since getting back. My dad just holds out a hand towards them. “Can I?” 

“Yeah.” I give him permission.

I watch as he stands up and grabs the nearest guitar and unzips it from its home. He goes back to his seat and rests it in his arms. He plays something I don’t know, which isn’t a surprise. He always did that. Then, he cracks his fingers and for some reason I feel intrusive as I watch. I don’t want to strum on my guitar just yet. He brings his fingers back to the frets and only seconds into the song, I recognize it. I know it by heart. I don’t say anything just yet, instead watch as he fumbles a little on the tricky riff.   
I finally decide to speak up when I feel like I have to. “How do you know that?” 

He stops playing, looking up at me with an amused face. “I did listen to your album, Ryan.” he tells me. “I really liked it, too.” 

“Thanks.” I just smile sheepishly. I’ve really gotten better at receiving compliments, it’s just my dad’s seems more important. I kind of always assumed my parents didn’t bother to listen to my music, let alone learn how to play one of the songs on the guitar. There’s something reminiscent of him sitting across from me with an electric and me with an acoustic. 

“I’m sorry...about the other night.” he says, after a silence had fallen between us. “Unlike your mother, I just– I just forget how old you are.” 

“She tells me a lot.” I say, just for the sake of saying anything. 

“Yeah, well, she’s better at stuff like that than me. I’m just worried for you, Ryan.” 

I cock my head at him. “Why?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he says. I instantly get curious but he moves the conversation forward, not giving me ample time to think things through. “Um, the boy that came over on yesterday, was that the same one who…?” 

“Yeah, that was Brendon.” I say, looking down at the fretboard of my guitar. I seriously hope this isn’t why he’s worried. 

“I thought you said that was over?” my dad asks. 

I sigh and try to find the strength not to scream at him. I don’t even know the amount of times I have told him that we are done. It makes me upset that he makes it sound like such a big issue. “We are.” I say coldly. “I haven’t talked to him in months.” 

“He just decides to show up on your birthday?” 

“Does it matter?” I ask, looking up and giving him what I hope is a desperate face. I don’t want to talk about this. This doesn’t have to be a thing if he doesn’t make it. 

He just shrugs again and goes back to strumming the guitar. I take it as a sign that he doesn’t want to talk anymore. I bite my lip a little, sort of glad he dropped it. My fingers are itching to play but my mind is telling them not to. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve played in front of my dad. I finally force myself to play something of my own so I guarantee I won’t fuck up right away. 

For a while, our conversation stands still and our guitar strumming fills the room. I go through plenty of songs until I start trying to come up with my own stuff. I play random chords and try to sew them together and see if they sound okay. I end up getting really into it, closing my eyes and starting to make up a pattern I barely remember. When I realize I am the only one playing, I open my eyes and see my dad just watching me, curious eyes engulfing my presence. 

“Are you guys writing?” he asks, as if he knows that I’m obviously not playing anything else. Maybe it was the fact that I fumbled around on the strings, just looking for a fret for my fingers to rest on and how I really only half cared about strumming.

“Not really,” I tell him. “Alex and I, we just, uh, end up making stuff up all the time. I know the record label wants us back in the studio soon, though.” 

It bothers me how guarded my words seem around him. It’s like my tongue can’t properly work when I know he’s actually listening to me. It’s like I want to sound smart and proud of my thoughts around him. I’m not sure why I’m still trying so damn hard to prove myself to him. 

“Well, you better do it before they fire you.” my dad says. At first I think he’s being vicious but I soon realize he’s speaking the truth. After high school, this band basically became my job. I can’t fuck around when it comes down to it. I opted out of college, so this is the alternative. 

“I’m not sure when we’ll do it. I’m thinking about going to Chicago soon, do some acting.” I admit to him and maybe myself a little.

I have been thinking about Brendon’s offer a lot. It does seem silly for a director to want me, an untrained, shy kid for a television show but I understand it’s all the shiny image. I can imagine it now: Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross in a TV show together! It’s just something I can do. Try it out. Acting does seem appealing in my mind. 

“Acting?” my dad says, looking at me suspiciously. I almost laugh. 

“I got offered something and it seems dumb to turn it down.” I explain to him. He just gives me a small smile before he’s looking down to the frets of the guitar, as if he needed assurance he wouldn’t slip up. “What? Do you think I can’t do it?” It’s not malicious or accusing, more full of nervous sarcasm. 

“You’re kind of a blunt kid, Ryan.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t act!” 

We both look away to our guitars and it feels like a natural break for our conversation. Everything seems relaxed and I haven’t even been happy with him for the longest time, but right now, it just seems okay. It’s times like these that I wonder how I could ever hate him and my memory just has holes from his wrongdoings. 

“We could...write something?” my dad suggests. I look over to him and instantly nod my head. 

Thus, we sit in my bedroom for at least two hours creating a song that I think is my favorite. Now that I understand music construction and have gotten better on guitar, everything is better. We write the song, me jotting down lyrics every few seconds. He seems jealous at how easily words come together in my mind and I’m a little awkward about telling him. It works, though. Our voices sound the same as I nervously sing parts and he joins in. 

By the time he says he really has to get going, the song isn’t even complete. It’s close but it’s definitely missing something that either of us can’t seem to work out. He puts my guitar back carefully, making sure to mention how I’m lucky to have it. I finally place my new guitar down, my left hand fingers stinging and smelling like the metal of the new strings. 

“You’ve gotten pretty good, Ryan.” he keeps saying my name, like he’s finally proud of calling me it. 

“It’s kind of my job now.” I mumble, ducking my head because I can feel the telltale signs of a blush creeping on my face. 

“I guess I’ll see you.” he says, and I am still awkwardly fidgeting on the bed. We normally don’t have or need goodbyes so it’s not like I know whether we’re supposed to hug or shake hands or something. He just nods at me and I do it back and then he’s gone. 

If I had to pinpoint what moments defined our relationship for the better, I know this time spent together would be at the top.


	4. Chapter 4

My mom left the house a while ago, said she needed to go do something for work. I didn’t question her, becoming excited like a twelve year old who finally gets to stay home alone. I haven’t even been back that long but I am starting to understand why people move out of their parents’ house after high school. My music is blaring through the house and I’m making noodles on the stove. I sing along at parts in the songs and don’t mind if my voice cracks or wears thin at parts. No one is here to laugh at me. Well, except for myself. 

I’m talking online to Spencer and Alex about plans for the band, Dallon appearing to have disappeared from our conversation. We keep juggling over when we should plan to get together and work on new songs. I mention the one I made with my dad because I genuinely doubt he would mind me putting it on the album. It seems silly for it to collect dust like the rest of his songs that are stuffed in his old guitar case. 

When my phone starts ringing, I run over to the iHome and pause my music. The house instantly becomes much quieter and I take the opportunity to answer the call from someone I really wasn’t expecting to talk to today. It’s simply added into my phone as ‘Brendon Urie’ and no longer ‘Bren’. 

“Hello?” 

“Ryan, hey, could you do me a favor and open your door?” Brendon says, sounding slightly irritated. 

I keep the phone on my cheek and cautiously go down the stairs. I slowly open my door to Brendon, who gives me a whimsical smile and ends the call. I follow suit. 

“I’ve been knocking for like five minutes.” he says, moving through the doorway and into my house without permission. Not surprising behavior from him. 

I instantly can’t stand how he makes me feel. While my brain knows that we are over and the chance of us getting into another relationship is zero percent, my stomach doesn’t seem to get it. I get butterflies when he looks into my eyes and when he knows that he can go into my house without me being angry at him. It’s like he just knows those make me react special for him. 

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I had my music on.” 

“I know. I could hear it from out here.” he informs me. “At least it was good stuff.” 

We both share smiles and then it’s silent for a few beats and I don’t know what to do. It was never like this before. When we shared silence, it was comforting. Now, it’s like the most devastating thing to happen to us. I hear a sizzling coming from the kitchen and I scrunch my features together, trying figure out what it could be. 

“Fuck!” I yell, climbing up the steps and into my kitchen. 

I turn the heat down on the stove and clear the steam so I can see if my noodles are complete mush at this point. I’m poking at them with a fork, trying to see what I can salvage when I hear laughter in the background. I turn around and see Brendon eyeing me from the arch of the entrance from the living room into the kitchen. 

“It’s not funny.” I pout. “This is my meal and now it’s all melted and shit.” 

“You never could cook.” he says, walking up to me and peering into the pan. 

I move away from him, feeling way too close and find where I put the strainer. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks, this sly smile on his lips. 

I take a glimpse at him and then advert my eyes back to straining the water from my meal. “You should just tell me, I’m no good at these games.” I pull out a fork and sit down at my table. Brendon bounces to the table, still wearing his shoes. He sits down at the seat across from mine. 

“There’s a meeting today, for that show. I was going to tell you yesterday but I kind of forgot. So, now we have an hour for me to convince you to go.” Brendon declares. 

“An hour of you trying to persuade me into going to a meeting?” I recap, taking a forkful of noodles into my mouth. 

“I mean, like, you haven’t shown that much interest and–”

“You’ve only talked to me about it once.” 

“I know, but I kind of assumed you would have called or something.” he explains. 

“You know I hate talking on the phone.” I realize right after saying this that it sounds like an invitation for him to come see me more. I’m not really trying to encourage him seeing me. I honestly don’t like talking on the phone. 

“But you know how easily I forget things.” he points out. 

I look down at my food, angrily. It annoys me how much I want this friendship back between Brendon and me. When we used to know everything about each other. It’s like when Gabe tried to befriend me again and I wanted it. I wanted people to come back for me. The thing is, I look at how my friendship with Gabe worked out and I worry that is going to happen to Brendon and me. We’re going to become vicious and bitter. We’re just these people with grand memories that happen to intwine partway through. After we stopped talking I desperately tried to detach myself from it but I didn’t quite manage to detangle myself enough.

“Okay,” I nod my head. “Give me the pitch.” 

“The...pitch?” Brendon asks, his eyebrows scrunching together. 

“You said you were here to convince me to go to some meeting, so what did you have planned?” 

“Oh.” he flips his hair out of his eye and fiddles his with fingers. “Well, I didn’t get that far but I’m great at improv so…Ryan, I know you’re not an actor or anything–”

“My dad said I was too blunt to be an actor.” I interrupt him.

“You are sometimes but that’s not the point. Mason, the director guy, said we could take acting classes. And plus, you can’t lie and say acting wouldn’t be really fun–”

“But shouldn’t I be able to lie, since I’m a, you know, actor?” 

“It’s just an expression!” Brendon exclaims. I give him an amused, questioning look and he fold his arms as if in defeat. “Come on, Ryan.” 

“Why do you want me to be there so bad?” I ask a question that’s been thrumming through my head for a while now. 

Brendon finally gets quiet and starts chewing on his nails. It reminds me of right before the tour ended and us, he mentioned how for his new year’s resolution he wanted to quit biting his nails. It evidently didn’t work out. “Like I said,” he clears his throat, putting his fingers down from his mouth. “I miss having you as a friend.” 

“Hm,” I say, trying my hardest not to smile because, fuck, I missed him too. I just don’t want to admit it. “Okay, I’ll go.” 

“You will?” he jumps up, excitement exploding onto his face. I allow myself to smile at this. 

“Yeah, I mean, I planned on telling you I wanted to do the show but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” 

“Then why did you make me try to convince you?” Brendon looks outraged, his hands placed onto his hips. 

“Dunno.” I shrug, eating up the rest of my meal. “So, what should I wear to this thing?” 

“I have black pants in my car and just a regular dress shirt, I was kind of planning on changing here if you said yes.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him but just ignore his strange antics. “That didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know, man. Just wear something nice like me.” 

“But I’m always better dressed than you.” 

He gives me an annoyed look. “I’m going to get my clothes.” 

I laugh lightly to myself then follow him down the stairs. I watch as he leaves through my front door then I slip down the steps, sighing. I hated being so damn feminine when it came to how I dress but I am already anxious on what to wear. After having to go to so many things dressed nicely, I have a jungle of dressy clothes. Plus, I just like wearing nicer things so that helps the mess. 

I finally started to wash clothes and hang them back up in my closet, so when I slide open the doors, everything looks neat. I keep my casual clothes in the front so I instantly move to the back, pulling out a few and throwing them onto my bed. I go to my dresser and find some black dress pants and set them down next to the shirts. I stare at the pile of clothing and try to decide which one should be the best. 

“The white one.” Brendon says and I skid around to find him at my doorway with a backpack in his hands. 

“Okay, thanks.” I nod my head, just deciding it’s best for me to take his word even if that hasn't always worked out for me. 

“Which bathroom should I use?” he asks. 

“Uh, either one is fine.” 

He walks out, shutting my door in the process. I just stare at the backside of my door, wondering where the hell everything went. Old Brendon and I wouldn't mind changing in front of each other. It would have been natural. Now, us two males are separating ourselves to just get changed. I guess even my brain can comprehend why that is. The past does tricky things and suddenly it’s pulling our strings to do things we aren’t use to. 

It’s all for the better. I think. 

I quickly get changed, slightly worried that Brendon might walk in on me. If I wanted things to be awkward then I would allow for that to happen. Instead though, I hurry and step out of my door, waiting for Brendon to emerge from the bathroom. He does, looking much more sophisticated than before. His loose jeans are exchanged for tighter black pants that hug to his hips. His flimsy T-shirt is gone and in its place is a dark blue button up. He has the sleeves rolled up and a skinny tie around his neck. I instantly realize he looks better than me. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, lazily moving his hand in the direction of my front door. I stare at it, remember when my hand used to lace through those very fingers. 

Suddenly, there’s a dull ache in my chest that I distinctly remember from bad times. “Um,” I need to keep my thoughts in reality, “yeah, but Brendon?” I’m not sure how to say what I want to, but he still nods for me to go on. “You’re not doing all of this to get me back...right?” 

He looks surprised at what I’ve told him but recovers quickly. “No.” he shakes his head roughly. “I honestly just want to be your friend again.”   
We stare at each other for a while and I think I finally start to believe him. 

 

“Six dollars and thirteen cents.”

I hand over the money and take my frozen yogurt off the scale. I reach for a spoon, slightly bitter as I puncture my yogurt and its various contents. Lilly and I sit in the corner of the spacious room, our chairs grinding on the floor as we situate them closer to the table. 

“Hah!” Lilly squeals. “I told you mine would be less.” 

“Mine will taste better, though.” I counter, taking a bite and smiling victoriously at her. 

“No it won’t.” she tells me. “It will taste like frozen gummy bears.” 

I grin a little and go back to eating. I take Lilly’s unintentional advice and eat the gummy bears first, hoping that they don’t turn into frozen ships in the sea of yogurt. I suddenly yawn, moving my hand over my face. Lilly only looks at me strangely for a second, like she’s worried about my sleep schedule but seems to forget about it. 

“I’m assuming you’re leaving soon then.” she states. 

“How did you…?” 

“You always hang out with me right before you leave someplace.” she shrugs. “So, what is it this time? Another tour? Ooh, are you guys finally recording a new album?” 

“No, uh, actually I’m going to Chicago for a while.” I think I just like the way that sounds on my tongue. I’ll be going to Chicago soon. I’m not some kid that dreams of big cities but it just sounds intriguing. Having only been there once, even if it has some disdaining memories, it still has a sparkle. 

“Really? What for?” she seems interested and it seems so real. I think I have just gotten used to people faking interest so they look better. 

“Brendon, um, visited me and asked if I wanted to be in some TV show with him and then I went to the meeting yesterday and I just decided I might as well.” 

“You’re gonna act?” she asks incredulously. 

“Why does everyone react that way?” 

“You’re so quiet.” she tells me. “When I think of actors they seem all loud and bouncy.” 

“Like Brendon?” 

She shrugs, looking down at her yogurt then taking a big bite. “Are Brendon and you…?” she trails on, like she’s not sure how to word things. 

“No,” I correct her. “I haven’t talked to him at all until he came over and asked me, like, a week ago.” I don’t give her the specific day, not wanting her to start thinking things like Jack and Alex. 

“Oh,” she suddenly gets excited and I’m not sure why. “Do you think he likes you again?” 

“What?” I nearly spit my yogurt at her, but compose myself again. She just laughs at me. 

“Come on, you must be able to tell.” 

“How am I supposed to tell?” 

She looks disgusted when I say this but I don’t know what she’s talking about. “You’re both guys! I can’t tell if a guy like me because it’s that weird gender block. I can always tell when a girl likes a guy, though. So, obviously you should be able to tell if Brendon likes you again.” 

I don’t even know what to say. That must be the stupidest thing I have ever heard her say. When we were together, Brendon kept telling me that he liked me way before I would have ever guessed. I obviously can’t tell just because we are the same gender. Everyone seems to think that’s all Brendon wants. 

“Look, I can’t ‘tell’, okay? I asked him before we went to the meeting if he was looking for relationship but he said no.” 

“You’re such an idiot, Ryan.” she says, rolling her eyes. “He could be lying.” 

“Why would he do that?” 

“So you’ll accidently start to like him again.” she explains to me like she’s some teacher. 

“I won’t!” I say quickly, making sure she knows that a relationship is not in the cards for us. Ever again. “Brendon and I, we’re done, we’re just going to be friends.” 

She just looks doubtfully at me and eats another spoonful. “Okay, Ryan.” she says quietly. “Just remember what happened last time.”   
I look away, awkwardly. Why does everyone care about Brendon and me? Sure some bad things happened last time, but the future seems semi lit up. I don’t think I need to worry about Brendon trying to make a move on me or myself falling for him again. I’m done with that.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dallon!” 

“Ryan!” 

We both slow-motion run to each other, dramatically flailing our arms. We finally meet and wrap our arms around each other, stopping with our little game that we tend to do every time we see each other. We both laugh and I hear Spencer snort in the background. He thinks it’s childish, wouldn’t even try it with us. 

“You’re missing out, Spencer.” I shout, instantly getting ticked off looks from the assistants everywhere. “How much longer?” 

“Well,” Alex says, pushing up invisible glasses. “That chick just said we would walk out in ten minutes, like five minutes ago. So, Ryan, how much longer do you think we have?” 

“Seventeen!” a voice shouts behind me and we all look over to find Brendon and the rest of the Established Heroes trailing behind him. They’re all dressed in slimming suites that look identical, minus the different neon ties each has around their necks. I don’t like the way I instantly get butterflies in my stomach when I see Brendon. 

“What he said.” I smirk. 

I haven’t seen the full band in a long time. We did a show with them a while back and that was probably the last time I’ve seen Josh and Patrick. The iconic group is still set out in front of me, still as alluring as it was when I was younger. Some of the sparkle is gone but they still are my favorite band, regardless of a few incidents. 

Generally, Josh and Patrick are nervous around me now. I don’t think it’s because they know I’m gay, I think it’s because they’re worried about Brendon and me together. They don’t want to upset their lead singer or something. I’m not sure if it was because of how Brendon acted after I left; I’m still not sure what went down exactly, but I think he was kind of a mess. I guess I can kind of see why they tend to walk on eggshells around me. Jack, though, he doesn't care. He seems to understand everything better, will sometimes throw in jokes even.

A woman, looking overly rushed, walks up to the group. She looks confused on which band is which. “Uh, Established Heroes and July Poems are supposed to go now.” she orders, moving her hand towards the red carpet. 

I instantly get nervous. Award shows are usually full of photographers, video tapers, and interviewers. I hate them all. It’s one of my least favorite things to do. I have gotten better at my fake smiling but I can’t quite handle the flashes and questions at the same time. Everyone just wants a piece of you but I’m not sure if I have anything to give.   
Brendon quickly bolts to my side. “We’re friends.” he states.

“Great. Can I walk with my band now?” I ask, kind of alarmed by his behavior. 

“No,” he shakes his head, “better press. Mason said it would work.” 

I instantly think back to the meeting where Mason, the director, had mentioned something about how we should be seen together since we haven’t in a while. I try to ignore the fact that Brendon seemed kind of happy at his orders. 

“Fine.” I bite the side of my mouth, prepping myself for what was ahead. We start walking towards the flashes, the rest of the group ahead of us, not caring that we all blend together. 

“You still don’t like these, do you?” Brendon asks, not looking at me, rather the cameras that are already in our faces. 

I never remember telling him that. Is it that obvious? “Kind of.” I shrug, then go back to smiling. 

We walk and walk down the stretches of carpet and strike bored looks to happy looks. We answer some questions about our music and rumored upcoming tours. Brendon only smiles deviously and says that he and I are doing something apart from the bands at the moment. I try not to think of anything dirty that an interviewer could assume from his comment. We all manage to get out of there in one piece and have people bring us to our seats. Of course, Brendon and I are seated right next to each other. 

“Award shows are boring.” Brendon tells me, slouching in his chair. 

I just nod, not wanting to get into a conversation with him. I don’t like the way he talks to me like we’ve never been apart and we’re still best friends. After we stopped talking

I was really hoping we could still be friends but it didn’t work out that way. So now I’m stuck with this: pretending like nothing ever happened to us. 

“They’re always so stupid.” Brendon keeps talking, even though I’m almost positive he can tell I’m giving him the cold shoulder. “Plus, they tell bad jokes.” 

“I’ve been to a few.” I inform him. 

“Well, I know, I was just, you know, making small talk.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Alright.” I mutter, kind of confused and look away. 

The award show is monotonous and when Brendon’s band goes up there for an award, all the cameras go our way. I watch as Brendon looks my way, a broad smile on his lips. He looks directly into my eyes and I try to look happy for him but I’m confused as to why he looked at me like that. I just move my eyes over to Alex who appears to be giving bright eyes and happy smiles to Jack. I look over to Jack to find him giving Alex one last look before traveling to the stage. My stomach lurches as I realize he has the same look on his face as Brendon did when he looked at me. 

I sit uneasily in my chair for the rest of the show, our band luckily not winning anything. I didn’t want to go on stage. The second the show finishes, people mob Established Heroes. My whole band gets out there quickly, but gets invited to an after-party anyway. We all decide to go and get shuttled there together. 

“Established is going.” Alex tells us, holding up his phone, the glowing screen illuminating the darkened car. No one has to ask who he’s texting. 

No one really asks about Jack and Alex’s relationship, in general. I’m kind of jealous about it. No one ever questions their closeness, those times they run off together, or anything. It felt like everyone cared about Brendon and me. I swear, I’m in this war with attention; some days I want it, other times I don’t. 

“Are you okay, man?” Spencer asks, eyeing me. 

I swallow and nod my head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Spencer looks worried for a few seconds but then looks back to the window. I try to shrink in my seat as I look back to my window as well. The view isn’t anything new or impressive, either. It’s just LA. Cars, people, buildings, trees. All the damn same and I’m ready to leave. Maybe that’s why things have been confusing lately. I’m back to the place I grew up in. It’s a death wish for my memories to uproot everything I promised myself I was going to forget. I’ve had way too much free time lately so I just lie in my bed and remember things. I sometimes wish everything I know would just wash away for a while. 

The party is like any other party. Drinking and hugs. I indulge in both. Girls keep walking by me and looking at me interestingly. It’s like they want to be seductive but they aren’t sure if I’m actually interested. I still soak in all the halfway dressed girls but I’m not out for a one night stand or a relationship. I still find my eyes roaming over attractive males and silently wondering how they’d look giving me a blow job. The more I drink, the less I honestly care about my usually censored thoughts. 

“Hey.” a voice says next me. I turn in my bar chair towards Brendon. I don’t have to wonder what it’s like to get a blow job from him.

“Hey.” I try to conspicuously look down at my crotch and make sure I don’t have a boner as Brendon orders a drink. I’m good. “You just get here?”   
“No!” he almost shouts, me now knowing that he’s obviously had more to drink than I have tonight. Usually he doesn’t. “Disappointed I didn’t come see you right away?” 

I give him a tight smile. “Obviously.” 

The bartender hands Brendon a drink and he doesn’t waste time downing it. After a long pause, he talks again to my dismay. “Are you being a dick to me tonight or is it just me?” 

I shrug, my shoulders not as coordinated as I hoped they would be. “Probably.”

“Did I do something wrong again?” 

I try to ignore the ‘again’. “Nah,” I say, “I just think it’s weird how we’re pretending to be close again.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. 

“Pretending?” he repeats, looking down into the gold drink he’s sipping. “I wasn’t pretending.” 

“I wasn’t– I just think you go too fast, Brendon.” 

His face lights up like I just said what he has always wanted to hear. I don’t quite know why. “What do you mean by that?” 

“I can’t just be friends with you so soon. I’m not good at giving someone that right so quickly.” 

“Right...right! Because I made a mistake.” he looks disappointed and I’m still not synced into his feelings yet. “I mean, God forbid I make one damn mistake.”

He sounds so bitter and I don’t know how to react to it. “That’s over with, Brendon.” I say darkly, looking into his eyes so he knows how serious I am about this. 

“No! It obviously isn’t.” Now he’s just angry. What, is he looking for revenge? 

“You said we were done.” I say quietly. 

Brendon just slumps in his chair, only rotating his drink and making the liquid slosh onto the table. He makes no attempts to clean it up or stop. “Doesn’t mean I can’t miss it, can’t still like you.” 

I take in his agonizing words and replicate the way he’s sitting. I breathe in a shitty party and exhale any signs of giving into Brendon. “You’re wasting your time.” I say bluntly. 

I hate Lilly, Alex, and Jack suddenly. They were right. Of course, Brendon likes me still. I guess I kind of knew but I was ignoring it. We’re still doing the show and we’re not going to let it affect us. Even if I have to become mean. Brendon just can’t come back into my life like that again. Because, who knows what Brendon would leave me to figure out by myself again. 

“I can’t just stop, okay, Ryan?” Brendon says, finally putting his glass back on the table. “If that worked don’t you think I would have done that by now?”

“It worked for me.” I tell him casually. 

This obviously isn’t what Brendon wants to hear and he abruptly gets off his seat and runs away from me. I sigh heavily but know I have to do something about this. Tomorrow we’re supposed to get on a plane together and I don’t want us killing each other in the process. I leave my drink next to Brendon’s abandoned one and find out where he’s gone off to. I know right away to check the bathroom because that’s always seemed like our ‘if something bad happens, go here’ kind of a place. I think we do it intentionally, hoping the other will follow. I open the door to an empty bathroom except for Brendon staring at himself in the mirror, which I’ve noticed he does a lot. 

“Great, you again!” he yells drunkenly. 

He looks hurt and it’s like he knows how much I can’t resist those types of things. I know what will make him better. I know what exactly to do but I can’t bring myself to do it. I force myself to walk forward and I get into Brendon’s space. He doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes looking interestingly at me. I feel at home being able to remember the way he used to smell and how it’s still the same. I waste no more time trying to figure things out before I just kiss him. There’s no fireworks or shock when our lips touch but just memories that unravel from my mind. There’s something different, though. I recognize the familiar taste from an older girlfriend. I move my face away from his, our kiss ending but me still in his space. 

“Do you smoke?” I ask curiously, licking my lips.

“A new habit.” he shrugs, then seems to go back to business. “So, uh, maybe you’re not exactly done liking me.” Brendon says cockily. 

I smirk and bring my hand up to cup his face. “Oh, I am, but you’re not.” I go and kiss him again, missing the way our lips just greet each other like old friends. It’s shiver-inducing but great at the same time. Suddenly, my body is jerked backwards and Brendon is looking worse than when I walked in. 

“No!” he shouts, his eyes looking glassy. “You can’t do that! Don’t give me fucking hope when you don’t like me.” 

He rushes out of the bathroom before I can even say anything, not that I knew what to tell him. If I was honestly trying to fix things, that obviously wasn’t the best idea. I go back out to the bar, Brendon nowhere to be seen. I order another drink and waste another night glorifying dead memories. 

 

I search through the laundry basket for one of my favorite shirts as my mom sits on my bed. She came in with the laundry and it seemed rude to kick her out after she did something for me. I just think I need to sit with my thoughts right now. I’m glad that whatever kind of slight drunk I was when I left the party is now washed away with a late night coffee order. My mom hasn't asked if I’ve drank or anything, but I think she assumes. I’m still in check, though. I know what I’m doing and I’m in charge of my vocal cords once again.

“So, no big wins?” my mom asks, us still talking about the show. She keeps mentioning that she was watching it live and saw snippets of me when the cameras surfed the hoards of so-called celebrities. 

“Not this time.” I mutter, not really caring we didn’t do anything amazing. 

“Aw, well, there’s always a next award show.” she says, offering me a warm smile. “How was the after-party?” 

I told her where I’d be afterwards but I didn’t talk about any specifics. I don’t think she has any idea what those kinds of parties are like. I’m not going to be the one to let her in on some unnecessary information. “Kinda boring…everyone left early except for Alex and he spent the entire night with Jack.” 

“They’re so cute.” my mom muses, smiling fondly at what must be a memory of them holding hands in the doorway of my house when they came over briefly one day. 

I only hum in agreement, folding more clothes and putting them in the suitcase I have on my poorly made bed. It’s full of an assortment of clothes, all fairly summery. I’m not sure how long I will be gone, the director unsure how long we’ll be written into the scripts. He told us anywhere between a few weeks to a year. It’s a little hazy and annoying. I’d rather have a set time. He did mention that since we’re in Chicago they have a superfluous amount of laundry mats, though. This better be fucking worth it. 

“You were sitting next to Brendon.” my mom observes cautiously. 

“Assigned seats.” I tell her, not looking her way. It’s still a touchy subject between us. She knows firsthand how I reacted to Brendon. I think she’s just as nervous as I am about me befriending him again. 

“Oh, well, are you two, uh,” she clears her throat. No one can finish the sentence in one go, I guess. “Together again?”

“No,” I shake my head, thinking about how we kissed and Brendon said he still liked me, “we’re done.” 

“Are you sure?” 

I move my eyes from the piles of clothes I’m going through and look up at her. She looks worried for me and I don’t want her to be. I let my guard down once and now she thinks I always need her help. Still, I want to tell her how I feel because she’s my mother and we’ve been talking more and more lately. I think we’ve gotten to the point where we can talk and share our thoughts and be unguarded. I sometimes forget, though. 

“No.” I was about to tell her yes and not let her worry but I might as well not lie. “Tonight, he, um, told me that he still likes me. He was drunk, so, I don’t know if it counts, though.” 

My mom bites her lip, a habit that was undeniably passed on to me, and lets her gaze wash over me. She seems unaffected about the fact that Brendon is drinking underage. “Well, do you still like him?” 

I tap my foot nervously, thinking the question through, letting each syllable run through my head. “I don’t think so. I just want us to be friends.” 

“Ryan, you’re playing a tricky game.” she warns me. “You have to make sure he knows that you don’t like him anymore like that.” 

“I did.” 

“And…?”

I look down and sigh. “He told me that his feelings wouldn’t go away.” 

The way I see it, Brendon will give up sooner or later. Even if I end up liking him again, I’ll pretend not to. He’ll just start liking someone else if I never give in. By the time he’s in another relationship I can forget all about us. 

“I don’t know then, Ryan.” she tries to smile hopefully at me but it just comes out looking nervous. “I’m not sure if going out to Chicago is the best idea but you can’t exactly change your mind now. Just be careful. I don’t want you coming back like you did before.” 

I go back to my packing, hiding my face in shame. I’ll never quite get over the embarrassment that seethes through me whenever my mom brings up when I came back from my first tour. She just sat back as I tried to compose myself the best that I could. I stayed in bed for at least a week and barely ate anything. I was forced out of hiding after a while for things for the band. My mom was really helpful during that time and I think we helped each other a little. 

“I won’t.” I promise, finally zipping up my suitcase and becoming fully prepared for my trip away from here.


	6. Chapter 6

“One tall java chip frappuccino, please.” I say, my eyes still feeling heavy. “Oh, and with whipped cream and chocolate.” 

Brendon gives me a strange look. I’m tired, so fuck him. If I want something just as sugary as desert at four-thirty in the morning I can. Once the man is done ringing up my order, Brendon steps near the register in an almost zombie-like fashion. 

“Can I have a grande black coffee, please?” 

I look away, second hand embarrassment for Brendon. Seriously, black coffee? It’s like he’s a mature adult or something. It’s not really anything new for us. We used to order the same thing when we were on tour all the time. I don’t mention anything, though. We wait patiently for our drinks but Brendon’s is done far faster than mine. He still waits for me, his carry-on backpack strewn to the ground so he can put away his wallet. I finally hear my name called out and the girl looks excited to hand me the coffee, her face brightening when seeing me. I’m sure she did the same for Brendon, I just wasn’t paying attention. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s a fan. I do what I always do when fans don’t speak up: smile politely and walk away. 

Once we’re out of earshot of the girl, Brendon goes, “She drew hearts by my name.” 

I tut. “Better hurry back and get her number.” 

Brendon only looks at me coldly, obviously not understanding my humor. I guess it is kind of a touchy subject, but whatever. We sit near where our plane is supposed to get here in maybe a half an hour if we’re lucky. I carefully pluck off the plastic cap of my drink, dipping my fingers into the whipped cream and licking them clean. I look up distractedly to find Brendon looking at me with an amused disgust on his face. 

“You know I like the whipped cream, and if you wait, it melts in the drink and you don’t even get to taste it.” I tell him. 

“You look ridiculous.” he says, a shy smile on his lips that oozes a fondness he can’t even lie about. 

“You just wish you had whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.” I brag, leaning down in my chair and mentally prepping myself for the long airport wait ahead of us. 

Suddenly, Brendon scoops up some of my whipped cream from my drink with his fingers and smugly brings it to his mouth. “You’re right, I was totally jealous.” he declares, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

I don’t mind it that much so I just go back to finishing the rest of the fluff at the top of my drink. Brendon’s been fairly calm today, considering how he was last night. I expected him to be super hungover and vomiting, but then again, Brendon was never a hangover kind of guy. Neither am I. The worst thing that happens to me is I get a headache. Usually I know my limits, though. There was that one time where Brendon got super drunk on tour and ended up hungover for an early show and came to the side of the stage to vomit every other song. It was funny at the time. 

We haven’t talked about last night, both of us skating over the incident. He does seem mildly cold but I keep telling myself it’s just because he’s tired and drank too much last night. It’s four in the fucking morning, so it’s totally fair for us to be tired. Still, my mom’s words are in the back of my head, like little birds pecking at the base of my brain. Suddenly, everything Brendon does is amplified in my head. Every smile means more, every long look, every physical touch, just everything means so much more for me now. I keep trying to decipher his motives to why he’s set on me. I’m coming up blank, though. 

“Chicago is two hours ahead of us, you know.” Brendon says conversationally. “Which means if our plane is on schedule, which it better be, we’ll be there around lunch time for a meeting with Mason.” 

“How long is the flight?” I could do the math but I’m too lazy and Brendon appears to know. 

“About four hours.” 

“Damn.” 

I put the lid back on my coffee, hopefully to prevent me from spilling my drink all over the airport’s dirty carpet. I scrunch in my seat, trying to get more comfortable. Brendon just leans his head back and keeps his paper cup on his knee. 

“Glad you’re not hungover.” I mention to him, my mouth still not censored this early. 

“Why would you be glad?” he asks. “And how do you know I’m not?” 

“I think it would be worse.” I tell him. “Usually it’s really bad or barely there for you.” It sounds so personal even to my ears, but it’s only because I spent a whole tour by his side. I’m not completely sure if this information is still mine to hold, but my memory can’t just swipe over for now. 

“True.” is all Brendon says in reply.

A group of family members pass us, talking rather animated about something. Like usual, I find my ears perk up. 

“Do you think Aunt Cat will be able to pick us up still?” a girl a couple years younger than myself asks what appears to be her dad. 

“Better be able to! Three fucking hour delay!” he shakes his head, obviously annoyed at what has happened. 

I realize Brendon has stood up and is nearing the family. “Did you say three hour delay? For the flight to Chicago?” 

“Yes, the flight to Chicago. They say it’s storming badly there.” the mother tells Brendon, looking just as angry about this as the rest of her family. 

I finally stand to my feet, placing my coffee on the ground next to my feet. “Seriously?” 

“Wait a second,” the girl cocks her head at Brendon and I instantly know what is about to go down. “You’re Ryan Ross and, oh my gosh, Brendon Urie!” 

“Don’t bother the boys at the airport.” her father says and for a split second I see the girl’s face fall dramatically. 

“No, no, it’s fine.” I assure him, because I owe whatever kind of fame I have to the fans. I know Brendon feels the same way.

The girl’s face lights up and she starts searching through her tote bag. She talks rapidly while doing so. “I love Established Heroes and July Poems and I saw you guys when you were on tour in Chicago– we’re on vacation right now– and it was your last show for the tour and it was so great. I literally just saw you guys on the award show thing last night!” I wince a little when she mentions that show in Chicago. Not a great memory for me. The girl produces a phone from her bag. “Picture?” she asks, a hopeful smile on her face. 

Brendon and I both nod happily and tiredly at the same time and the mom grabs the girl’s phone. We scrunch together, the girl putting her arms confidently around our torsos. 

“One...two…three!” the mom counts down, all of us obviously smiling on cue.

“Thank you so much.” the girls squeals, taking the phone from her mom and glancing at the photo. “Why are you guys going to Chicago?” 

“Come on, Madison, leave them alone.” a guy says. He looks my age, brown hair spilling into his eyes and a beanie on. I’m not too bothered by the way that I instantly think he’s attractive, because, like, he is. 

“He’s just angry because he doesn’t have the guts to talk to you guys. He totally likes your music, too.” the girl, apparently Madison, informs us. 

I just smile at the guy, hoping that I’m semi-charming. “I totally understand that. I was forced to talk to Brendon because I was way too nervous to.” 

The kid smiles and I instantly get nervous because he’s got a nice smile. He looks like he is about to say something but then his dad says something about how they should really leave us alone and since Brendon and I make it a point to not talk to fans too long, we let them go. I slump into my chair, picking up my coffee sadly. I let the fact that we have a three hour delay be the reason I’m bummed; I don’t think Brendon is buying it, though. 

“You were totally checking that kid out.” Brendon says in an even tone. 

I try to laugh and lie, but my acting talents haven’t been discovered fully from the rumored acting classes yet. “Nah.” 

“Dude, you were like drooling over him.” he says. “It was the beanie. Pulled me over, too.” 

“Kind of.” I admit, staring into my coffee with a silly grin on my face.

“Not the best idea to date fans.” Brendon says, and I look over to him and see if he’s laughing or looking bitter but he genuinely looks calm. I don’t think he knows how to feel about it. 

“I was a little creepy.” I smirk. 

Brendon doesn’t say anything after that, just looks into the distance with a blank face. Maybe we shouldn’t be joking about this stuff so soon. Even after drinking my entire Starbucks coffee, I am ironically tired. I drape my jacket down on a chair a few spots down from my own and lay down, using the jacket as a pillow. I get another weird look from Brendon but ignore him, slowly closing my eyes and tucking my phone under my stomach. 

 

“Ryan!” 

I slowly open my eyes, my vivid dreams fading as I’m greeted with the scene of a busy airport. I instantly close my eyes again, groaning. 

“Ryan, we’re leaving in, like, ten minutes.” Brendon warns me, still shaking my body slightly. 

I pick my body up and hear the bones in my shoulder and back crack loudly. I move them roughly, making the noises double. I make a mental note to never, ever sleep on the airport chairs again. I let my eyes adjust to the blinding lights and move over so I’m sitting next to Brendon. 

“Got you breakfast.” he says, pushing a plastic box with a fork my way. There’s one identical next to him, but it’s already empty. 

“Oh, thanks.” I say because I never would think he would buy me breakfast randomly. 

I open the box to find two pancakes and a few pieces of sausage. I eagerly unwrap the fork form the plastic and dig in, my stomach suddenly lurching at the thought of not having food. 

“The storms got worse.” Brendon says. “We’ve been here for four and a half hours.” 

“What did you do?” I ask. 

“Listened to music.” Brendon shrugs. “Wrote a little.” 

I nod, not asking about what he wrote or if I could read it. I wish I could, though. “I had the weirdest dream.” I say, rubbing at my eyes with the hand not holding my fork for emphasis. 

“What was it about?” Brendon asks, only slight interest panning out onto his face. 

“We got to Chicago and met with Mason at the airport for some reason and then…” I pause, trying to trace where the dream got strange. I almost curse out loud when I realize what happened after that. “and we were talking at Subway.” I lie to him. 

“Okay, well, it wasn’t that weird.” Brendon shrugs. 

“Hah, I guess so.” I laugh lightly. 

It was though. In the dream, after we met Mason, we also saw the kid from the airport that Brendon and I both thought was attractive. He just walked up to us and started making out with Brendon in the middle of the airport. Then the kid got on one knee and asked Brendon to marry him. 

I woke up before I got to hear Brendon’s answer. 

 

“Brendon, you will be staying in room 237 and Ryan in 238. This whole hallway is full of actors from the show so you’re all relatively close. You guys can go on in and get comfortable. There’ll be a car waiting downstair in about ten minutes so you can go meet with Mason.”

“Thanks.” Brendon and I say at almost the same time. 

“No problem.” the girl that’s associated with the network says, waving a hand at us. “That’s what I’m here for. I hope you both enjoy Chicago. I swear, it’s not always this stormy.”

We both smile and chuckle a little and the girl hands us our keys and makes her way down the hall. The place we’re at is a nice apartment place. There’s multiple floors and numbers and elevators and it’s all rather chaotic. I just grab my suitcase off the ground and drag it towards my door, using the key to open it. Once inside, I find it’s nicer than I expected. There’s a small hallway that leads into a split room with a kitchen on one side and a living room on the other. I walk around my living room, touching the expensive looking vase that’s on a desk. My room has a giant bed that I instantly fall into, my face smashing into the plush pillows that appear to be all over the house. The bedding feels soft on my skin and I wonder if it’s new.

“You should probably learn to lock a door.” a voice says and I instantly turn over and whip my head up. 

“I’m only here for ten minutes.” I tell Brendon. 

“Say that when the murderer comes in, maybe he’ll spare you.” Brendon says sardonically. 

I don’t even try to smile as I get up from my bed. I head for the door, silently turning my head to the side a little to make sure Brendon is following. We get into the elevator conveniently across the hall from us. I grab for the metal bar that lines the confined space. I’ve never liked elevators and it’s almost embarrassing having Brendon eye my hand that is tightly gripping, making the tips of my fingers white. I ease up a little and stare at my feet until we make an uncomfortable lurch downwards and the doors ding open.

The car doesn't appear to be here just yet. I watch as Brendon picks through his pockets and produces a box of cigarettes. I haven’t actually seen him smoke and I was starting to wonder if he lied about it or something. Sure enough, though, he starts to light one of the cigarettes. His thumb rolls on the top of the lighter and a flame ignites. I stare curiously as the butt of the cigarette glows a deep red and then the flame is gone. Brendon sucks in and I move my eyes away finally. 

“I used to smoke when I was younger.” he tells me slowly, me not even asking him to tell me the backstory. “Josh and I thought we were cool. I stopped because it wasn’t like I needed it. I kind of just started again…” 

I look back up to him as he breathes out and smoke pours out of his mouth. If we were closer I might’ve considered telling him he looks good doing it. It seems to fit him as he flicks off a chunk of the cigarette into the busy streets of Chicago. 

“Okay.” I nod, not sure what else to say. 

He finishes in silence.

As promised, a town car pulls up. It’s black and has tinted windows and I feel like Brendon and I are much too casual to be riding in it. I still look out the window the entire time, like I did on the ride from the airport to our apartment building. I’ve only been to Chicago twice in my life so the place still sparkles in my eyes, the buildings cascading into the sky. The rain has finally let up, the sunshine peering out from the clouds. The streets are busy and we only drive slowly. There are thousands of people littering the streets. Some have on exquisite suites and walk with purpose, dodging the wide eyed tourists equipped with cameras. I wonder what it’s like to be a casual down these streets. Maybe I’ll know soon. 

When we arrive at a regal looking restaurant I can’t even pronounce the name of, I feel underdressed. Brendon doesn’t look quite as affected. We thank the driver of the car, who tells us he’ll be back afterwards, and we walk through the main doors. When we get inside, I feel better about my jeans. There appears to be others in here with the same idea, talking in hushed tones and looking into menus, but peering over the top to smile at the person across from them. Something ugly twists in my stomach. 

“Mr. Urie, Mr. Ross, your table is this way.” a man says, wearing a sharp suite. 

I try not to smile at being called ‘Mr.’ but Brendon seems completely at ease. I need to stop comparing every goddamn thing I do to Brendon. I think it’s become a bad habit and usually habits don’t go over very well with me. 

“Guys!” Mason says the second we near the table. He stands up and bear hugs both of us, similar to the first time we met. 

Mason is young, I think, for his line of work. He’s maybe twenty-five with spiky hair and a button up on. He’s generally spastic and, sort of like me, very observant. I bet we even have similar writing traits, but I don’t bother asking him. I would guess that he’s just kissing my ass by the way he gets so excited around us but he mentioned he’s been a fan of our music. 

“Damn storms!” Mason curses freely. “Instead of a lunch, we got a dinner.” Brendon and I both laugh kindly, still smiling softly once the noises have stopped emitting from our mouths. “Anyway, enough small talk.” He’s the only one that has talked so far. “You two, you two are the next famous TV duo.” 

“Duo?” I repeat. I’ve gotten comfortable with Brendon and me generally being clumped together. I guess people just like us clumped together rather than alone. 

“Yes!” Mason says enthusiastically, making small jazz hands. “I’ve been up all night writing script after script for this season and I can already tell that you two will be perfect. It will be so great.” 

I gulp nervously, this seems like a lot. I’ve never even acted before which I know Mason knows. I’m not even sure of myself, how the hell is he supposed to be so confident on how I do? I doubt he has any worries about Brendon. He’s professional and has been acting since he was young. 

“It’s just…” Mason pauses and I know this is it. He’s going to share his concern for my utter lack of acting portfolio and I’ll nod and act like he has nothing to worry about but in fact he does. “I watched you two walk in together and I instantly got worried.” Mason looks completely scared as he says this, his fingers fidgeting on the table. “You guys don’t look like best friends anymore.” 

“What?” I say out loud, kind of regretting it once it has flown out of my mouth. That is obviously not what I was expecting for him to say and I would have rather had him confessing his worry for my acting than this. 

“I’ve seen old press photos. You two used to look like the best of friends. Now, just when you walked in and just by the way you’re leaning away from each other, it worries me.” Mason confesses. I look over slightly to see that Brendon and I are kind of leaning away from each other. I make no effort to change it. “Now, I understand the…past experiences with you two, but I expect this little dent in your relationship to leave. I need friends for the show and for real life because being close to someone is a hard thing to pretend. I knew when I casted you boys that you’d be able to do it for the fact you are close and I can’t have this coldness.” 

I bite my lip halfway through his spiel. What the hell have I signed myself up for? He’s essentially telling Brendon and me we must be friends again or the TV show will be ruined. I can’t bring myself to look over at Brendon. Knowing him, he’s probably holding in a string of giggles. Then again, he’s been fairly somber today, obviously rehashing last night in his head a few too many times.

“I don’t– I mean, Ryan and I are still friends.” Brendon assures and I nod along. Friends. Yes. 

“Mm, you might not want to throw that word around so carelessly, Brendon. Ryan looked a little confused.” Mason smiles, outing me. 

“No,” I try to protect myself, not wanting Brendon thinking something that’s not true. “We’ve figured out shit from the past and now we’re friends.” 

Mason looks between the both of us, at first looking curious, then dreadfully doubtful. “Perhaps it might be in the best interest to get a therapist for you two.” 

“What, why?” I ask. 

“You missed it, Ryan. When you said that you have figured stuff out, Brendon’s face looked shocked. Not even a good shock, either. A scared one.” 

I hold my tongue as I want to curse at him for being a completely incompetent person. How is it fair that he should just come in here, having only met us a few times and just try to get into our relationship? He’s wrong about it all.   
“I’m not scared!” Brendon shouts. “I know–”   
“Excuse me, but you all need to order drinks.” a waitress says, clutching a pen and notebook.   
I blink at her for a few moments and wonder how someone can just waltz into a heated conversation like that and ever so gracefully ask us for drink orders. “Water.” I say, grudgingly. 

“Same.” Brendon mutters. 

Once the waitress is gone, I find Mason still looking between Brendon and me. “You will become friends.” he says, his voice warningly low. “This TV show needs it to be something amazing. You need to try your hardest or I will get you two into couple therapy.” 

I’m about to tell him that Brendon and I aren’t a ‘couple’ but I stop myself. I can already tell that I need to at least try to make Mason halfway happy. I smile and nod and so does Brendon and we only talk lightly for the rest of meal. 

If Mason wants us to be friends, well then Brendon and I are going to be friends, even if Brendon wants more than that.


	7. Chapter 7

“What the fuck?” I groan, covering my face with a pillow. 

It must be, like, six in the morning and someone is fucking shouting in the fucking hallway. Not just regular shouts, either, it’s goddamn singing. I sigh heavily and then aimlessly grab for my phone, which I set on the bedside table last night. I unclip it from the charger with my eyes still closed and pillow covering my face. I slowly move my phone under the pillow and open my eyes to the brightness of seven hundred suns. God. I need to turn down the brightness. 

I sit up, realizing that my alarm is about to go off in five minutes. Six fifty-five in the morning and someone is still singing in the hallway. I get up and slide on a white shirt that is chucked on my floor from last night when I delved into my bag for the first time being here, looking for pajamas. I go to the door and quickly open it and peek outside and there is absolutely no one there. I groan and shut my door. I lean against it, still feeling faintly groggy. 

I cock my head to the side when I realize I recognize the voice that is still singing. I start heading towards where the sound is coming from, slowly moving across my new apartment. I go into the bathroom and push my ear up against the wall nearest to Brendon’s apartment. 

“You can’t be serious.” I whisper, suddenly banging on the bathroom wall. 

This has to be some form of bad luck. I can literally hear every word Brendon is singing, even if I can’t recognize the song. Are these walls made out of paper? I go back to my room, idly checking my email and playing a game on my phone until Brendon’s singing has ceased. I can’t bring myself to take a shower knowing that naked Brendon is on the other side singing songs that I vaguely know. Once I’m in the steaming water I have an urge to sing so loudly that Brendon will be damn sure to hear me, but I don’t. I’m not that confident in my voice. 

I’m trying to put on a pair of tight jeans, jumping up while my fingers are latched in the empty belt-loops, when there is a knock on the door. I flinch slightly, not completely used to it, and hurry to put on the shirt I set out on my bed before I went in for the shower. I head towards the door, combing my fingers through my wet hair. 

“Ready?” Brendon asks, a slight smile on his lips. 

“Almost,” I say, hurriedly. I probably should have gotten up earlier, “just gimme a few seconds.” 

I walk off into my room and find a belt in my suitcase and slowly ravel it through my jeans. Slipping my phone into my pocket and grabbing my keys on the counter. Brendon is standing stiffly at the door. He moves over when I come over and close the door to lock it. 

“See? I remembered.” I tell him, a smug smile on my face. 

He just nods and we venture to the elevator, a complete déjà vu from yesterday. This time I make a point not to hold the bar lining the metal so roughly. Brendon doesn’t appear to be interested in my hands this morning, though. He looks troubled. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask. It doesn’t sound right coming from me. Strangers ask that question to me all the time so I’m only trying to help because that’s the kind of thing friends do.

“Ryan,” Brendon says, his hands drumming nervously on the side of his thigh, “look, I can’t go to ‘couple therapy’, okay? We need to be friends or at least just pretend or something. I can’t do that again.” 

Again? “Um, I mean, I thought we were friends.” I decide not to ask about why he said ‘again’. I just automatically assume that it’s not something meant for me to ask about. “I know that we were a little…uh, disgruntled about the previous night yesterday, but it’s done.” I say, finality gluing itself to my words. 

“Yeah, okay. We both know that I kind of drank a lot that night and I can’t exactly censor my thoughts and it’s okay now. We’re friends.” He looks like he is forcing himself to say everything and I can’t even look at him anymore. 

I’m not sure how it’s happened but I’ve turned into something I never wanted to be. When I was younger, before I had ever had any significant relationship, I read an embarrassingly high amount of love stories. I liked books and most good books just have love plots. Thus, I read about people who loved someone they couldn’t have. It was completely confusing at the time. How the other person could just ignore the other’s love. I told myself that if someone loved me there was no way I would refuse them. That seemed terrifying to think that someone might eventually do that to me and the only way I could get good karma was to never do that. But now, I am doing that to Brendon. I’m not sure if he still loves me but I know he still likes me and that seems like a lot to me. I feel bad rejecting him but when I was a kid I never accounted for trust issues. 

“Look, Brendon, I’m sorry I don’t want a relationship and, I don’t know, I just feel bad about this all and–” 

“It doesn't matter, Ry.” Brendon says sternly, the elevator dinging. “We’re friends.” 

 

Brendon sits next to me, looking rather excited. Everyone else is staring at us, their wide eyes roaming over Brendon’s and my form like we are actually something so fucking special. I still manage to keep my eyes locked to the leader of our group. He’s older, maybe in his late thirties. He looks like he knows what he’s doing and he’s babbling things about improvisation while using grand hand motions. I feel sick. 

“Let’s get into pairs and we’ll practice, but one at a time. Can’t have anyone having stage fright!” the man says. He’s essentially turned into the devil for me. I don’t want this kind of attention. 

“Be my partner.” I say, instantly clutching onto his arm. 

I watch as a faint smile plays on his lips. “Is somebody nervous?” 

“Shut up.” I snarl. “Not all of us have been doing this since we were five.” 

"Trust me, these kinds of games are easy.” Brendon says, waving a languid hand at me. Maybe for him they are. 

The leader goes up to the first pair, smiling like he’s about to burn them alive. I gulp nervously, dreading for the moment he gives Brendon and me that look. “Okay, this will just be a simple improv game since this is a beginner’s class. I will tell one of you an emotion and you must play it on your face, using no words, and then the other person must figure out what the emotion is.” 

He goes up to the girl who looks much younger than me and whispers something in her ear. She nods firmly and then suddenly her whole face changes. Her eyebrows crinkle together and her mouth slightly opens. I’m not sure how she does it but her eyes even manage to widen. The boy across from her stays as still as a statue, watching his partner change only a little. 

“Desperation?” he asks. 

“Correct!” the leader shouts, his face getting excited, “Good job, Allison.” 

The man goes through a bunch of groups and I progressively get worse and worse in anticipation. Some people mess up, which gives me a little hope. Why did I agree to act? Oh my god. He’s coming towards us. I can’t breathe. Nope. We’re going to screw up and everyone will laugh and I’ll ruin the entire TV show and fuck. 

He looks at Brendon and me for a few seconds, obviously trying to decide who should act it out. I twist my fingers, fucking praying he doesn’t pick me. When he edges towards Brendon, I feel effortlessly relieved. I just have to guess. This can’t be that hard. Brendon’s good at this kind of stuff. 

I can’t hear what the guy whispers to Brendon, but I instantly see his face drop. I watch as Brendon straightens up and tries to smile and I get lost. What the fuck? He’s just looking at me with a forced smile and dead eyes. “Er, is ‘trying’ an emotion?” I ask, feeling stupid as I say it loud. 

The leader looks to Brendon then to me and he laughs. Just laughs at us. Brendon looks to the floor, an acute form of shame dancing on his face before it’s hidden from my curious eyes. “That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking for ‘love’ but I guess it makes sense, Brendon.” he shrugs, a smile still oozing on his face. 

Brendon is still staring into the ground, the tips of his ears noticeably red and I can only imagine that his face is tinted a lovely crimson, as well. I smile a little as the man chuckles again and tells us all to be seated again. He goes off into another rant about acting styles and I barely listen. Brendon’s tapping his foot nervously on the ground, his Reeboks bouncing up and down on the dirty linoleum. I stare, transfixed on it. 

Well, wasn’t that ironic. Love. I said trying. That’s what Brendon thinks of love? I don’t actually know how I would have reacted. How do you even show love? That can’t just be something you fake seamlessly. I’m going to just guess that maybe Brendon just remembered stuff. Our past. The times when we did, in fact, love each other.   
“Are you even listening?” Brendon whispers, his finger jabbing into my arm. I decide that it probably is in my best interest to listen for once. 

 

The TV is blaring and I’m not very aware of it. I just sit on Brendon’s couch, my eyes flickering to the gap between him and me. The TV is showing two characters talking in hushed tones and it’s hard for me to pay attention even if it is the show I’ll be in. All I really know about the show is that it is widely popular and almost plotless. I’m not very intrigued in it so maybe that’s why I think it’s plotless. Brendon, on the other hand, is staring at the TV with wide eyes. 

“Oh my god.” he whispers, brushing hair out of his eyes. “I think Jess is going to confront Erica.” 

“Is this really supposed to help us bond?” I ask because I have yet to feel any friendlier towards Brendon since I got here. 

Brendon looks over at me, his eyebrows knit together. He bites his lip then brightens up after a few seconds of what looks like deliberation. “I know!” he says excitedly, standing up from the couch. “Pause it for me.” 

I try to catch the remote that Brendon haphazardly throws at me as he dashes out of the room towards his kitchen. My semi-okay hand-eye coordination didn’t exactly help me out because the remote hits me in the arm and I yelp out in pain. I pause the show bitterly. 

“What happened?” Brendon asks, his arms suddenly full of food. 

“When did you go shopping?” I ask. 

“I didn’t.” he tells me. “What happened, though?” 

“I just didn’t catch the remote.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

Brendon drops the food on the couch where there’s a gap and we both go for the bag of Doritos. Our hands hit and I still make a point to steal the food, swatting away his hand. Brendon apparently wants them just as much as me. 

“Ryan!” Brendon wails, his body hunching over the rest of the food, his hands at the bottom of the chip bag. “They’re mine!” 

“You’re crushing them!” I shout, finally being able to get them from his clutches. “If you would have been the better person I would have offered you some but now they’re all mine.” 

Brendon grabs for the cupcake that is eloquently wrapped in a box and shrugs like it doesn’t matter. I can see how much he wanted them, though. “I want chocolate now anyway.” he pouts, turning on the show again. 

I get comfortable and start opening my chip bag up quietly until I notice that Brendon isn’t taking such precautions as I am. He’s angrily opening the plastic wrapping and making an over-exaggerated amount of noise. I roll my eyes but then crinkle my bag loudly making sure Brendon notices. 

“Seriously, you’re two years old.” Brendon tells me. 

“Hah!” I shout sarcastically. I still haven't even opened my bag all the way but Brendon is just asking for an argument. “You started opening your cupcake like you’ve never seen plastic before–”

“Oh, shut up, Ryan! You’re being so immature by opening your fucking chips like that. You expect me to do things like that!” 

“Exactly why I won’t date you again.” I mumble, picking at the hem of my shirt bitterly.

“Why did you have to drag that into this?” he yells at me and I’m not used to this. Brendon and I have really only fought a few times and this just feels new to me. Usually we just ignore anything bad and don’t say anything. I don’t like having Brendon directing shouts at me. 

“You’re the one making us hang out even though we obviously don’t want to.” 

“I’m trying to fix things I messed up, okay?” he shouts, guilt bordering his words and I can’t help but to notice it. “I was stupid and we were fine until I got drunk and told you I still liked you and now, fuck, well, now it’s just messed up and I want back whatever we had before that.” 

“Brendon, I’d rather know than have me wonder and not know.” I admit, feeling silly as I say it. 

Brendon sighs and put his head in his hands, leaning back into the couch. “Why do you even care?” 

I open my mouth then pause. I sigh and then try again. “Not sure.” 

It’s the only thing I can even think of saying. I don’t know why I care what Brendon thinks if I have no intention getting back with him. I remember Lilly telling me Brendon would trick me into a relationship and I’m still kind of worried about that. I have to prove her wrong. I know better than to get back with Brendon. Even my own mom disapproves. I know what I’m doing. 

Our conversation seems finished and fragile but I still open my mouth to pry information out of Brendon’s. “Today, in the elevator, you said ‘again’ when we were talking about the therapy thing…” I say, not really asking him but highly suggesting it. 

Brendon’s jaw tightens and he looks away from me. There was a time when I thought I knew everything about him. “You really want to know?”

“Friends care about things just as much as boyfriends.” I don’t like that word when I’m around Brendon. 

“After we stopped talking Dan was a bitch about me being gay again. There was this party with all of my family and they all kind of ganged up on me. And Dan, well, you know him, he just kept attacking me and I couldn’t take it...so I punched him in the face.” Brendon cringes a little but then there is a flicker of a smile on his face. 

“Brendon, are you smiling about punching your own brother?” I ask, a smile finally blooming on my face and executing the tension of the room. 

Brendon seems a little happier, nodding his head slightly. “Can’t say I regret it, either. The dick had it coming for him. Safe to say everyone in my family thinks I’m fucking crazy, though. My parents forced us into therapy and I only went because I hoped it would make my family not hate me so much.” 

“Wait, so you didn’t, like, oppose the idea you were gay to your family even though you stated the pictures were a joke?” I ask, my stomach flipping anxiously. 

“Duh.” Brendon says, like it’s completely obvious. “I thought I made it clear that I was kind of done hiding my sexuality around people I know when I told my ex-girlfriend. Does, um, your family know?” 

I nod, my neck almost hurting in the process. They do and they don’t hate me but I don’t think they will ever see me the same way again. “I mean, my aunt kind of reuses to even look at me anymore because her poor daughter got betrayed by me.” 

“Sorry ‘bout that, Ry.” he says, my nickname rolling off his tongue nicely. I usually think of nicknames as big things because they establish closeness and I’m very careful with them. 

“It was kind of a mutual thing.” I say, a tiny laugh for effect. 

“Look at us sinners.” Brendon smiles crookedly at me. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I got into a fist fight with Gabe Saporta at the beginning of senior year.” I inform him. 

“What, how–Really?” he splutters, laughing at me. 

“I’m serious!” I defend my words.

“Did you win?” 

“I mean, like, it was pretty even and stuff so…” 

“In other words, you got your ass kicked.” 

“Kind of.” I shrug, wearing a small smile. I did get hit a few times and ended up with a black eye and bruised stomach for a while. I did punch him hard on the jaw so it’s okay in my book.

Brendon then looks down at the food still in-between us. “I’m not really hungry anymore.” 

“Me neither.” I say, moving the food to the floor and inching closer to Brendon. “I think...friends sometimes cuddle.” I offer, my eyes hopefully conveying a twisted apology and forgiveness. 

“Yeah,” Brendon says slowly, a shy smile on his face. “I think they do.” 

Brendon gets a blanket from the side of the couch for me and him and we get comfortable. He plasters against me, placing his head on my shoulder. I can feel his light breathing and I don’t suddenly feel so lonely. His hair is prickly against my neck but it’s just another reminder that I’m not alone and he’s there. I keep my hands in my lap not sure where to put them. I’m still content. This, well, this is nice even if Brendon wants so much more.

“I’m sorry, Brendon.” I whisper, feeling a little numb. 

He just hums an agreement of sorts and keeps quiet. I don’t think I’ll ever know how he feels exactly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“You know you’re going to have to go in there, right?” Brendon asks, his eyebrow drawn up at me. 

I stare at the door and keep telling myself it will be okay. I’ve been to a few more acting workshops and people have been telling me I’m doing well. I know what I’m doing and Mason even gave Brendon and me the scripts early and briefed us on table reads. I can do this. Still, when I look at the door that will present a long table and all of my counterparts of the show, I feel sick. 

“They’re going to laugh at me.” I tell him my fears. 

“Nah,” Brendon murmurs. “You’ll do fine and they’re honestly not expecting that much from you anyway.” 

“Why aren’t they?” I ask, suddenly feeling panicked. 

“Ooh, glad I’m not the only one late.” a woman’s voice says and I instantly swivel around to see someone who I recognize from watching the TV show on loop with Brendon. She’s got bright orange hair with streaks of red and I stare a little transfixed because her hair isn't like that on the show. Maybe she wears a wig. “Hey! Ryan, Brendon!” she smiles widely at us, showing off a perfect set of straight teeth. “I’m Hayley.”

Brendon and I both acknowledge her and then she’s pulling us by our elbows into the conference room. Everyone doesn’t look too surprised by Hayley hauling in two people but then they notice who we are. The room becomes buzzing with quiet conversations and Hayley finally lets go of us. 

“It’s Ryan and Brendon!” she announces to the room. 

I smile suddenly just as nervous as I was out the door. I’m not usually very good at first impressions. Everyone says a few hellos and Brendon and I go around the room meeting the major actors in the show. I try my best to remember names, repeating them right after they say it. I know some of the people’s names just because of the credits of the show but I still let them introduce themselves. Others say they are returning from older seasons that I haven’t watched, their faces new to my memory. I soon find myself seated at a long table, Brendon to my right and Hayley to my left. 

“Now that everyone knows everyone important, let us start the table read.” Mason yells and his assistant starts passing out folders. 

She gives me my folder and I uneasily open it, feeling like my fingers are shaking. Which they might be. It’s just a table read. No one is expecting Grammy worthy acting. I’m just a kid named Cameron who’s usually pessimistic and is best friends with Erica and Emmet and works as a waiter. I tap my fingers anxiously on the table as the assistant ever-so slowly passes out the rest of the lines. 

“Are you nervous?” Hayley asks from next to me. I turn towards her and see if she’s going to make fun of me or something. She only has a soft smile on her face. 

“A little.” I admit and partly lie because I’m kind of freaking out. 

“Have you acted before?” she asks, her voice ringing out amongst the quiet chitchat. 

“No.” I say softly, looking away from her. 

Her lips tug into a genuine smile. “You’ll do fine. My first table read was with this cast and I was super nervous but then everything was okay.”

“Did you act before this show?” 

“Yeah, a few commercials but they don’t typically do table reads for those.” she confides and I just look down feeling like I’m the most improper person for an acting job. “Hey, I don’t think Mason would have hired you if he thought you’d do a shitty job.” 

“Thanks…?” I question, not sure if she was really complimenting me or not. 

“Does anyone know where William is?” the assistant ask everyone. 

We all go silent and Mason lets out an audible sigh. “I can try calling him.” one of the guys I met earlier pipes up, I think his name was Mikey. Mason just shakes his head and tells the assistant to read off William’s lines as well. 

We start going through the script and when it is nearing my entry to the show I start tapping my foot more vigorously. I feel a hand on my thigh and look over to see Hayley’s warming smile. She mouths ‘It’s okay’ and then I kind of believe her. I relax and when my first line comes up I say it, my voice only trembling a little. I try to put forth the same amount of emotion I did last night when I was rehearsing. I’m not sure if it works. 

“Sorry I’m late.” A guy comes into the room. He has brown hair that is choppily cut around his face and he’s wearing a tight T-shirt with some clothing company detailed all over it. His brown eyes sweep across the room, stopping at Brendon and me. He looks like he wants to say something but refrains. 

“William, find your script and sit down.” Mason says, irritation prevalent on his words. “You’re getting docked for this.”

William just shrugs and sits down on the other side of the table where there is an empty seat. He keeps looking at me then a little to my right. I look over at Brendon who is messing around with the side of the binder and looks ghostly pale. I raise an eyebrow at him but he’s too interested in ruining the plastic of his pristine binder. 

Once we finish, everyone sighs and shuts their binders. If it wasn't for Hayley telling me meanings for certain expressions I didn’t understand and sometimes giving me happy smiles, I don’t think I could have finished without getting sick. I keep my binder open a little longer, running through my lines one last time. Then, I look over to Brendon who appears to be doing the same as me, still looking a little pale. 

“You okay, man?” I ask. 

“Not exactly.” Brendon mutters and I’m about to ask what’s wrong when the kid from earlier, William, bounds up to us. 

“Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross!” he shines his teeth at us and I do the same, me being used to people knowing my name by now. “Haven’t seen you in forever, Bren.” 

Brendon finally looks up, smiling dully. “Y-yeah.” And what the fuck? I have never heard Brendon like this. He doesn’t sound like his usual composed self, instead he’s finicky and looks like his ADHD is acting up. 

“William Beckett.” he says, holding out a hand for me to shake and suddenly I understand. I still shake his hand, some of Brendon’s nerves jumping at me as I do so. “I’m a returning character from season two. They’re bringing back a lot of old characters and throwing out some of the new ones.” he elaborates. 

I nod and then Brendon just looks down at his folder. There’s this awful silence between us and I wonder if William can already tell that I know who he is. 

“Ryan, Brendon, can I have a word with you?” Mason asks from across the room and we both jump at the opportunity to leave William. When we go over to Mason he is giving us a wide smile. “You two!” he cheers happily. “I can see it. I can tell you both bonded. And you guys, you sound very fluent and wonderful together and I’m so excited for this season.” Cue Brendon and me saying thanks. “And I know that I already talked a little to Brendon about this but it would be amazing if you two maybe got ‘caught’ by the paparazzi. You know, let them think you two are great friends again. Sets good vibes for the show and stuff.” 

“Okay.” Brendon nods, his face strictly business like.

Mason looks towards me and I simply nod, then he’s walking away from us. “So, did you know your ex was working for this show...or?” 

“Obviously not.” Brendon says, his eyes wandering towards William. “Fuck. I didn’t think he was that great in the acting class I met him in when I was younger. I mean, this is a pretty popular show and William acts like he owns the place.” 

“Hm,” I smile deviously, “good luck, Bren.” 

 

Cut forward to Sunday morning and me lying in bed the day before we start our first real filming. I was sleeping fine until I heard a loud, piercing knock through the morning. I groan out loud and hate everything at that moment. I slowly move my eyes to the alarm clock on the table and read the time. Ten thirty-nine. Okay, so maybe I should have been up before now. Still, I drag myself out of bed and head towards the door. I don’t bother with my hair or my lack of admirable appearance, simply open the door. 

“Did you just get up?” Brendon asks, his face painting the picture of disgust. 

“It’s Sunday and I have nothing to do today, so yes, I was sleeping.” I tell him, an obvious annoyance in my tone. 

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but bear with me, okay? Friends go with other friends to church. Especially when the one friend’s psychopathic brother flies to Chicago to see him even if he obviously hates him.” 

I let out a loud sigh and stare at Brendon dressed in black pants and flannel button up. “Brendon,” I start, my voice tired sounding. “Are you asking me to go to church with you and...Dan.” 

“Please, Ryan.” he pleads, linking his own hands together for emphasis. “I’m not trying to, like, convert you or anything because, hell, I don’t even believe in it. I just don’t want to go alone with Dan. You know how he is.” 

“Why don’t you just tell him you’re busy?” I suggest, raking my hands through my hair then rubbing my eyes. 

“I’m trying to fix our relationship.” 

“Yeah, so why not bring the kid that is publicly known for being your gay lover with you.” I say sarcastically. 

“Not funny.” Brendon pouts. “Please?” 

I sigh inwardly and dodge his puppy dog eyes. Goddamn, why does he have to be so good at that? “Brendon, you fucking owe me.” I yell, widening the door for him and motioning my head for him to come in. “Wait here while I get ready.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Brendon smiles, his face lighting up. 

I ignore him and head towards the bathroom. I get ready quickly, not bothering to take a shower since I took one last night before I went to bed. I look through my suitcase for something mildly appropriate for church. I suddenly get anxious. I’ve been to church few times with my grandparents and it’s a little terrifying for me to think about going back to those kinds of places. It’s not even like anything really bad happened at church, I just don’t feel fit to be going in those establishments. 

“Ryan!” Brendon calls out. “Hurry up!” 

I fix my belt and look into the mirror near the bed. My hair is kind of a mess but I doubt it looks as bad as I think it does. I head back out the living room where Brendon is looking through a pile of books I brought with me. I stare and wait for him to notice my existence. 

“Oh,” Brendon mutters when he notices me.

“Do you know how to do ties?” I ask a little nervously. Every time I need one I just look online but I never remember anything. 

Brendon nods and gets up from the couch. He takes the dark blue tie from my open hand and picks up the collar of my white dress shirt. Slowly, he wraps it around my neck and I’m not sure how to feel with his arms around me. I feel awkward just standing there as he concentrates on making it even and perfect. Brendon finally finishes, putting his hands to his side but not moving an inch away from me. 

“Looks good.” he tells me. 

“Thanks.” I say, shuffling backwards a little while trying to make it look like it’s nothing. I still think he can tell.

“Okay, let’s go to...church.” Brendon says, moving towards the door.

“You owe me so much.” I remind him and he only smiles at me. “If he says one thing about us together, I’ll fucking–”

“He won’t!” Brendon assures. 

We head downstairs and Brendon starts leading me through the streets. He must have looked the place up before we left. I follow behind him, watching as he pulls out a cigarette box from his back pocket. I don’t know how to feel about him smoking, so I just look at the back of his head. His black hair swishes with the wind and looks soft to the touch. I bet it smells nice, too. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

“Don’t tell Dan about this.” Brendon tells me, turning his head slightly. 

“I wouldn’t.” I let him know. I’m still kind of scared of Dan. “How far away is this place?” 

“A couple more blocks. Needed fresh air.” 

We keep walking through the streets and I force myself to stop comparing this to the date Brendon and I had and how we walked to the symphony. We could have easily taken a cab but Brendon seemed so intent on finding his way himself. I don’t really think that he’s walking to the church for the same reasons. When a building that resembles a church comes into view, I watch Brendon drop his cigarette onto the pavement. 

“Brendon!” I hear a voice call out. I know it instantly. “Hey, I didn't think you’d bring anyone.” 

I watch as Dan looks both of us over, not exactly merrily, either. I try to act like I’m no longer the awkward kid he met cuddled up with his brother. Dan looks older and maybe even a little worn. I feel myself shuffle closer to Brendon and hope that the inspection will be cut short by him. 

“Uh, yeah.” Brendon smiles and nods his head vigorously. “Well, Ryan and I are going to an...acting thing after this and he just decided to tag along.” 

“You’re Mormon?” Dan asks to me, his eyes lighting up. 

“No, I’m just, you know, curious.” I lie, feeling very unconvincing. Improvisation really wasn’t my top skill in acting classes. 

“Oh, okay.” Dan still smiles widely. “I think you’ll have a good time.” 

I straighten up my back and smile back. I’m slightly amused that just showing faux interest can make Dan a little bit more tolerable. When Dan turns around and starts walking towards the church he must expect us to follow him. I sneak Brendon a smile and he reciprocates the action, his definitely larger. When Dan is out of earshot I scoot closer to Brendon. 

“I didn’t know you were Mormon.” I say quietly, trying not to make the people around us angry. 

“Well, I’m not, but my whole family is.” he explains, eyeing the friendly people around us. “Dan is inclined to believe that I’ll suddenly feel God but, uh, I don’t think I can.” 

“You can feel music.” I whisper and I’m not sure if Brendon even hears me. 

When he looks over at me, this uneasy smile on his face I’m fairly certain he has. He nods his head and bites his lip, which I barley ever see him do. 

We walk through the church and stare at the happy families who are hugging in their fancy clothing. I stick closer to Brendon, kind of freaked out to be in here. I can feel my hands grow sweaty and usually that isn’t something that happens to me. As surreptitiously as I can, I wipe my hand on the thigh of my pants. If Brendon noticed, he doesn’t say anything. 

I notice the familiar flicker of eyes towards Brendon and me. Some of these people must have heard of us and are probably silently disapproving. I keep my eyes on Dan and we head towards the rows and rows of seats. Brendon sits in the middle of us so I don’t have to sit by his older brother and I’m silently thanking him with my eyes. 

“So, you guys are acting?” Dan asks us, his hands curled up properly on his lap. Brendon appears to be mimicking him. 

“Yeah, for this show and we start filming tomorrow.” Brendon tells him. 

I instantly freak out on the inside because fuck is it really tomorrow? 

“That’s cool...Are you two...together?” 

“Dan!” Brendon shouts, giving his brother hard eyes. 

“Sorry.” he says and then things go silent again. 

I look down into my lap and feel my face go red. Every person we see just assumes we are a thing again and I’m getting sick of it. Brendon assured me that Dan wouldn’t say anything. I just feel dumb and small now. I can tell Brendon is looking at me and probably offering some half-assed apology. I refuse to look over, letting him know that I’m pissed. 

I sit in the pews and wonder if by some crazy chance I will feel God and my whole life will magically turn around. I know I’m wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

“Ryan,” Mason says, showing off a forced smile, “you skipped the line about you going to Erica’s house tomorrow. Try again.” 

I swallow and close my eyes for a few brief seconds until I hear the telltale signs of one of the members of production snapping a scene board and then I’m back into being Cameron. “I doubt I’m going.” I say nonchalantly even if my insides are tense and nervous. I walk across the fake room until I’m in front of a desk and I turn around slightly. “I’m spending time with Erica tomorrow. Maybe I’ll…” I break off, suddenly forgetting the lines that I swear I knew perfectly last night. “Maybe I’ll come over–” 

“Okay, okay.” Mason sighs and I look down at my feet, embarrassment searing through me. “How about a fifteen minute break? Ryan, look over the lines.” 

I’m half-tempted to flee to the bathroom and throw up because my stomach is killing me but I decide that probably won’t leave a good mark on the rest of my cast. Plus, I kind of doubt I would be able to throw up. I shamefully head towards the corner of the soundstage and plop down on the ground, grabbing my folder on the way. I slowly say each line to myself, thinking about my stage cues and what Brendon says and how I’ll react. I start to panic a little to myself and I bite my lip. Fuck. 

It doesn’t help that Brendon is perfect at this and everyone else seems to be great and I’m that kid that keeps ruining things. I know Mason is really trying to be nice but I’m afraid he’s going to fire me at any second. I just hate cameras. I hate the way they just look around for imperfections. I’m just the fool for those lenses to cruelly zoom in on and they can catch all my pauses and mistakes. 

I bite the inside of my mouth, slowly falling apart. I feel somebody slide down the wall and next to me. I know who it is before they even start talking. 

“Hey.” Brendon says cautiously. 

“They all hate me, right?” I ask, knowing that he has talked to them. Oh God, they’re probably all making jokes about me and how I stuttered a little. 

“No, Ryan, they don’t care, okay?” Brendon says firmly. I still think he’s lying to me. I don’t bother answering his ‘okay’. “Look, I remember when I first met you, you were really quiet and timid. But after a while, I swear, you weren’t like that anymore. You know, you talked and showed more emotion and I think—I think that is what is happening now. I know you’re nervous but you’ll get used to it.” 

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. 

I watch helplessly as Brendon places a cautious hand on my thigh. I try to act like it doesn’t make me even more nervous. Brendon’s always been a touchy person, though. It’s just comfort. Still, it feels like a blunt knife cutting at me and for some reason it is comforting. 

“I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t think it was true.” he whispers softly to me. 

I feel my lungs start working properly again and I find my body being enveloped in a hug. I melt into it because I feel unguarded and not like myself. I’m still Cameron for all I know. Brendon smells good and his hand is rubbing my back in soothing circles. For the first time today, I think that I might be okay with this whole acting thing. Brendon retreats, me instantly missing his warmth and lingering presence on me. He almost looks like he regrets the hug and wants to apologize. I simply flash him a smile to silently say that I needed it. 

“Wanna practice the lines?” he asks, shifting closer to me and latching onto the side of my already worn folder. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” I blush. 

We go through the lines and I can tell Brendon already knows them all by heart but he still reads from the page. When we get a five minute call we practice without the folder and the words just spew out of my mouth when I look at Brendon. When they call us back to set, Brendon gives me one last sentimental look. I find my spot on the sound stage that’s meant to look like a living room and wait for the ‘action’. 

“I doubt I’m going.” I say, slowly walking over to the desk. I can feel Brendon’s eyes on my back. I swivel around slightly. “I’m spending time with Erica tomorrow. Maybe I’ll come over afterwards. Cool, Emmet?” 

I watch as Brendon nods uneasily and then I turn around and mindlessly start searching through the piles of papers on the desk. Since I’ve read the script almost a million times I know that Brendon is looking slightly pained for me, or really Cameron, rejecting his plans to hang out. I pull out a familiar piece of paper and hold it up like a winning jackpot card. 

“The tickets.” I flash a smile at Brendon who seems unaffected. “See you later, then?” 

“Yeah.” he nods, giving me a small smile before his lips make a straight line. 

I head towards the fake door and start opening it, knowing that there is nothing but emptiness on the other side. There is a loud ‘cut’ and everyone resumes talking. I go up to Brendon who is smiling widely at me. 

“Told you!” he shouts at me. 

“It was just one scene.” I say sheepishly. 

“Still, I think you got this, Ross.” 

 

I drum my fingers on my thigh and wait for us to arrive. Brendon is on one side of me, probably relishing the fact that he is forcibly situated so closely to me, and Hayley is on the other side. She’s going off about how the cast always get together to celebrate the first filming of the season. She tells me about how on the second season party they all got in trouble for being late and hungover to an early call time. Hayley says it doesn’t stop them all from getting wasted and singing shitty songs with the karaoke machine this place has. 

“Are you even twenty-one?” she asks, this fear in her eyes. 

“No, I’m nineteen.” I say, a little embarrassed. “But it’s not like I’ve never been drunk or anything. Usually they just give us free drinks.” 

“Really?” Hayley asks, slightly amazed. I nod. “Well, if they don’t I’ll sneak you some.” 

Brendon is quiet on the other side of the cab. It’s probably because most of my drunken tales involve him and the bathroom. It really isn’t even as good as it sounds, either. 

“Brenny,” Hayley says, already having picked out nicknames for all of us. She pulls her bony arm across me and pokes Brendon in the side. “I’ll sneak you drinks, too.” 

“One fucking year off.” Brendon says, pouting a little. “I swear, for my twenty-first birthday I will buy so many nice drinks and get so wasted.” 

“Better still be around here whenever that is.” Hayley says, smiling deviously. 

The cab comes to a stop and I start getting out my wallet but Brendon is already paying the man with a few bills and I have no time to argue. Hayley and I thank him and then we all get out. We’re at some shabby club but they still let all of us in when we tell them why we’re here and who we are in the dim lighting of the street. Once inside, I instantly lay my eyes on all the people jumping up and down and grinding. I look away. I was never very great at dancing, let alone grinding. Part of me knew it was the simplest kind of dance but I wasn’t the kind of person who initiated things...like a guy was supposed to do. 

There’s a group of people I instantly recognize and we all sit together. A round of shots already poured and waiting on the table in their tiny glasses. I eye them, wondering what they are and how many of them will help me feel at ease. I’d like to think that I’ve gotten better around large groups of people since the band’s whole blowup but I’m probably lying to myself. I still meander to the sides and barely open my mouth even if I want to. 

“Brendon!” a smooth voice rings out and even if it wasn’t a call for me, I still look. William Beckett is standing close to Brendon, two shot glasses in his hands. “Here, here.” he hands him one and Brendon doesn’t bring it to his lips right away. 

“Come on, Ryan!” Hayley moves me to the table before I can watch Brendon and William socialize and I find myself reaching for a shot glass. 

The glass is cold on my warmed fingertips and I stare down into the clear drink. Everyone rounds into a circle and we all raise the glasses slightly. A man with red hair that looks decently put together gives a long speech. I can’t remember his name but I know which character he plays. We all smile and bring in the glasses to our mouths. The liquor feels strong on my tongue and while it slithers down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. I feel a little better about tonight already. 

 

“And then I’m trying not to hit the makeup stands but everyone is going in front of them. It was awful, like, we weren’t even supposed to be doing water balloon fights in that room, but I swear to God, the hallway they let us use is way too small, Ryan, it’s way too small. And it smells like piss.” Hayley tells me, looking a little down about the hallway. “Anyway, then Gerard throws one at William, and I know you don’t know Bill, but fuck, he freaked out! Like, I guess he was wearing some designer shirt and he practically tackled Gerard. I mean, that’s just stupid like…” 

I zone out a little on what Hayley’s telling me and look over to Brendon and William dancing. They’re grinding into each other and look overly happy with the hoards of girls around. Brendon expressed to me how he didn’t really want to spend time with William but I guess after a few drinks Brendon doesn’t care. I look away, not liking myself for caring so much about what Brendon is doing. 

“Ugh, Ryan, seriously?” Hayley says, snapping out of her ongoing story of the epic water balloon fight that I wasn’t there for. “You need to stop staring at him! What’s the history, huh?” 

I look up, a little caught in the headlights look on my face, no doubt. I shrug, taking a sip of the drink I have. “It’s nothing. Besides, I bet Brendon likes being flocked by females….and apparently William.” 

“Mm, Ry, you are so jealous.” she purrs and it’s noticeably easier to hear she’s drunk. 

“How do you know?” I instigate. “You’ve only known me for like five days.” 

“I can tell, trust me. Lemme guess, did you two fuck or something on tour? Ooh, I bet you did. You must get lonely on those things, right? Or do you actually have groupies you fuck?” she blabbers on and I almost gag. 

“Sh,” I tell her. “I can fuck whoever I want to.” 

“Hah, okay!” she yells, her hand messing up my hair slightly when she rustles it playfully. “Seriously, though. What happened?” 

I look over at her and she’s grinning and looks friendly and it’s Brendon’s fault I’m all alone without my so-called friend at my side. “You can’t tell anyone.” I say quietly enough so she can still hear over the music. She mimes zipping her lips and throwing the key over her shoulders messily, laughing slightly as she does so. I laugh along, mimicking the way she threw the key. “Okay, well, Hales, we were totally having sex on that tour. I mean, not a lot but enough that it’s safe to say Brendon and I aren’t straight.” 

To my surprise, Hayley doesn’t look disgusted. Instead she looks enthralled. “I saw those pictures of you two. I mean, anyone with eyes can tell you were close.”

“It was so great.” I mumble, my usual censorship over my words gone with the empty glasses of alcohol. “This one time, Brendon gave me head on the bus but we had to be quiet because everyone else was sleeping. It was really hot, I’m not gonna to lie.” 

I try to leave out the fact that Brendon and I have really only done things below the belt three times in total. I figure if I keep things all physical and not emotional then it will stay in my head like that. I wasn’t ever in love with Brendon, I was in love with his dick and his mouth and his ass. Obviously I wasn’t in love with him and his smiles and jokes and personality. Nope. 

“I could give you a blow job?” Hayley says, this coy smile on her lips. 

I disregard the offer right away. “I don’t know. Like, for a while after I stopped seeing Brendon I kind of hoped I was still straight but then I realized I still really want to fuck guys. So, as much as I want a blow job, you’re not exactly the right candidate.” 

“Oh!” Hayley gets excited, not at all bothered by my rejection. “There’s this guy. Minor character for the season. Probably won’t be around much. He’s gay! Like super gay and I bet he’d totally give you head.” 

“No! I’m not going to let some stranger do that.” I say, feeling trashy for just the idea growing a little in my thoughts. 

“I would feel like some sex cupid, though!” Hayley whines. 

“Let’s just talk about something else.” I say, my head kind of throbbing at the thought of Brendon right now. I instantly take a long slug of my drink. “Like, what about you? I’m going to assume you’re single?” 

“Hah, yeah.” she says. “Obviously if the only person who’ll talk to me is gay!” 

“Why don’t people talk to you?” I ask. Cue me finishing off my drink and looking sadly into the clear bottom. 

“Dunno. Do you want the rest of this?” she scoots over her drink and I greedily take it. 

“How’s it going guys?” Brendon shouts in my ear and I’m about to reprimand him but then I realize how close he is and how sweaty he is. And trust me, I’ve seen the kid after a show, he gets sweaty. But he looks just as buzzed and excited. 

“Awesome!” Hayley says, giving me a sly wink. Oh God, why did I tell her? “You guys having fun dancing?” 

“Fuck yeah! I danced to my own song, it was amazing.” Brendon snorts then suddenly laughs uncontrollably. William yanks him away towards the bar and I watch desperately. Dammit, Brendon.

Hayley must recognize the anger in my eyes because she leans closer to me. “I could still get Jason to give you head?” 

 

It’s so ridiculously stupid and cheap. We’re in a bathroom stall, Jason, who I’ve never met until Hayley talked to him and pushed us together merrily, I found, is just a phenomenal kisser. He’s pushing me into the plastic stall divider and driving his leg into my crotch. I hold in a heavy moan and suck on his tongue that has somehow made it into my mouth. His hands are going up and down my sides, his nails digging into my skin occasionally. I only push harder into his leg when he does that. 

“You’re so hot.” Jason breathes into my mouth and I disregard it. 

He starts kissing my neck and I lean my head against the divider, feeling his teeth teasingly bite me. I’m moving my fingers through his hair, occasionally tugging. 

“So, uh, there was a blow job promised?” I say, suddenly not being able to take it any longer.

I watch Jason smile darkly and then he gets onto his knees. I wonder if the ground hurts but I honestly don’t care because, fuck, he’s undoing my belt. It’s been way too long since someone else has touched me and I really want this right now. Not even the damn bright bathroom lights that burn my eyes will ruin this. 

My hazy mind doesn’t bother helping the guy with my button or zipper. He seems to be doing okay, though. He pulls down my pants and boxers at the same time, eyeing me like a prize. His eyes flicker up to mine and I only give him a look of haste and want, and then there is a tentative lick on the head of my cock that makes me groan out loud. He slowly takes me into his warm mouth, his hand holding the base. I find my hands slowly slithering down to his shaggy blonde hair, twisting my fingers into it. 

He licks the underside of my dick and then takes it out of his mouth. I whimper at the loss like a fucking baby. “Mm, pull my hair.” he says, voice low and gruffly. There is no way I need to be asked twice about that. 

He takes me in again and I start tugging at his hair without myself really noticing. I bite my lips from moaning too loud and I can hear people filtering in and out of the bathroom. There is no way they can’t tell what is going on. I take this as an excuse to let myself breathe even more heavily than I already am. I buck up my hips a little and unlike what I was expecting, the guy groans a little, obviously not annoyed. 

“I’m close.” I exclaim, his mouth bobbing up and down on me and holyfuckingshit. 

Without another warning, I come into his mouth, feeling slightly bad for not telling him I was close sooner. He still swallows my come, but doesn’t bother helping me put my pants back into my regular shape. 

“Okay, you owe me for that. I want one, too.” he says before pulling me in for more dirty kisses and I’m not really fond about how I can taste myself on his tongue. 

“I’ve, uh, never…” I trail on, my face heating up. 

“Doesn’t matter.” he breathes. 

I slowly get down on the floor, still not having fixed my pants, and I was right about the bathroom tiles feeling rough on my knees. I carefully take his belt off, my hands not feeling coordinated. I pop open his button on his incredibly tight jeans and shrug them downwards.

Well, it’s always fun to learn something new.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“With us today, we have some members of the cast of the award winning TV show ‘Cables’ who just recently started filming their new season. The first episode is airing November first.” The lady turns towards us, a smile plastered on her face. “Ryan and Brendon, you guys are musicians and now you’re acting! How did this all come about?” 

For some reason I assumed that if I did acting I wouldn't have to do interviews but it turns out that actors do indeed have to do them. It kind of sucks, too. There’s quite a few of us here, all having to go through an extensive hair and makeup preparation and then be perfectly placed, Brendon and me being the focal points. Brendon looks good with his hair sticking up in different directions and his strategically placed makeup. Looks fine without it, too. Brendon’s kept up this strange revival of a relationship with William, the both of them kind of annoying the shit out of me. They’ve got stories about them going around Chicago together and inside jokes that the whole cast is confused by, which only encourages them to laugh more. 

I look over to Brendon, not sure if he’s going to answer or if I am. He starts talking before I even figure it out. “After a tour with my band, I was in Chicago for a while doing acting classes and kind of hoping to get back into it. I met Mason Cresh, the director for the show, one day at class and he ended up asking for me to join his show.” 

“Ryan, were you taking these classes as well?” she asks at me. 

“No. Brendon actually came back to LA right after I finished a tour and then he just kind of told me all about the job and how they wanted me too.” 

The interviewer nods and I try to ignore the cameras everywhere. It seems like by now I’d be immune to them. “This is your first acting job, so are you a little nervous about how fans will react to this new side of you?” she asks, smiling deviously like she really doesn’t care about our answers. She just might not.

“I hadn’t really thought about it…” I say and cringe a little because I shouldn’t be letting people know I don’t think about the fans. “I don’t think that if fans like my music they should instantly feel the need to watch the show because those are two different things that don’t really connect.” 

“Yes, very true.” she hums in agreement. “And Brendon, this is technically also a pretty big acting debut for you, too. Are you two still planning on making music?” 

I don’t see how the two things connect but since the question is directed to both Brendon and me, I do the thing we usually do in interviews. He answered the last one, I get this one now. “For my band, I’m not going to let this stop the music. I still love it and want to continue but doing the show seemed like something I would enjoy.” 

“Yeah, yeah, same.” Brendon says, professionally smiling. “I was just talking to the guys and we’re already having ideas to record some things and I don’t think they mind the break.” 

“Is it more like a hiatus?” she asks. 

“No!” Brendon shouts and everyone holds in their smiles. “It’s not like that kind of a break.” 

I silently hope that this interviewer will finally talk about the show because Brendon and I can’t be that interesting. She forges forward, though. 

“Good, good, don’t want to get your fans confused.” she says, a hint of joking on her tongue. I try to ignore it. “Like those pictures of you two, you put out pretty short statements.” 

I freeze and pray she isn’t talking about what I think she is. Every interview I go to they feel the need to ask about the pictures and why my statement was so small and why it was a joke and all this bullshit. Every interviewer wants the scoop on us just so they get views. Those are usually band interviews and now they are TV show interviews and who I kiss isn’t in either of those categories. 

Brendon just shrugs, not looking too bothered but annoyed enough and I hope that she will just drop it. 

“Let’s hope their time on the show isn’t as short as their statements.” William says, wearing this smug smile.   
Everyone but Brendon and me laughs or smiles and then the awkward moment happens. We’re all just sitting there not sure how to continue and then Hayley, the little savior she is, speaks up. “There’s nothing confusing about this season, though.” she says happily. “I think fans will be excited to have us back.” 

“Indeed they should!” the interviewer says and I try to sink into oblivion. 

 

Once the interviewer lets us go, I storm into the green room to find my phone and leave this fucking place. I hope William just feels fucking fantastic about himself. Great. Go ahead and have Brendon. See if I care. I’ve got better things to do, like giving and receiving blowjobs with strangers. Even if I’ve only done that once and I still feel dirty about it. Before I can even find my phone, I hear William’s loud voice rehashing the interview. 

“That awkward silence, though. God, Hayley, good thing you saved us.” he says, laughing and no one else joins him. 

“You’re the one that caused it.” I shout, probably a little too vicious. 

William looks towards me, amusement played out onto his face. “It was a joke. Calm down, Ryan.” 

I turn around retrieving my phone from the table, angrily mumbling as I do so. “Well, you shouldn’t joke about things you don’t know anything about.” 

I’m leaving the room when I hear William talk again. “Who says I don’t know anything about it?” he says rhetorically. “Brendon and I are friends again.” 

I turn around again, my eyes catching on Brendon’s. He looks slightly guilty and I can’t exactly yell at him. I did tell Hayley, even if it was all an accident. It’s only been two weeks since we filmed the first episode. How did Brendon and William’s relationship get so much better in that short period of time? “Awesome, William. Now shut the fuck up about it.” 

“You’re just jealous.” he spits at me. 

“I’m jealous?” I shout. “Me? I’m done with Bre–” I stop myself, realizing there is a group of us here all probably wondering what the hell is going on. I’m not going to admit to all of them Brendon and I had a relationship of sorts with each other. They all probably know by now, though. Or at least guess. “Think what you want, but I’m not jealous.” 

I walk out the room, feeling the eyes on me. I get outside and I know there is a car waiting to bring us back to the apartments. I walk straight past it. I think I roughly know how to get back from here. This way I can get a coffee and avoid people I don’t want to see. The streets here are filled with Starbucks that I usually go to way too often. 

I start heading down the road, the late-September winds cooling me down some. I look for street signs, trying to find a recognizable name. 

“Ryan!” I hear a voice I know too well yell at me. “Ryan, wait up!” 

I don’t slow down, keeping the same pace I was at before I heard him. I try to act like I don’t hear it. Sadly for me, Brendon jogs up next to me and is kind of out of breath. He just catches his breath and walks with me, both of us silent. I round the corner, suddenly feeling confident about where we are going. 

“Why don’t you attract all the fucking fans in a five mile radius, Brendon?” 

“I’m sorry, alright?” he finally says, voice tinged with regret and irritation. “I didn’t think William would do that.” 

“Why did you tell him?” I inquire, not looking over at him. I know I shouldn’t be upset because I did tell Hayley about my relationship with Brendon. Still, Hayley didn’t dangle it over Brendon’s head.

“God forbid I have friends I tell things to.” Brendon says, his tone not as light and apologetic anymore. 

“You choose your ex for that role?” I ask disbelievingly. 

“You’re doing it, too!” he shouts. I look over to see him blushing a little and I force myself to look away.   
“We weren't even dating.” I snarl. “And I don’t tell you everything.” 

Yeah, like how I gave my first blowjob to some guy I didn’t even know and I’m pretty sure I did a really shitty job and when I got home I took three showers just so I could stop feeling so goddamn dirty. 

Brendon shuts his mouth but still walks with me. There are a ton of people roaming the streets and I’ve grown used to it. I zigzag through them, someone every once in a while catching my interest. It’s a big city, though. You don’t stop and chat here. You keep walking until you hit your destination. And if you don’t have one, you just walk until you find it. 

“Where are you going?” Brendon asks. 

“Where do you think, Brendon?” I say annoyed. 

“If you’re planning on going to your apartment, then you skipped your turn two blocks ago.” he points out. 

I stop walking turning to him and making sure he isn’t joking. He looks serious, which is never good. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” he says. “Have you left your apartment at all since we got here?” 

“A few times.” I mumble, looking down at my feet. 

“Okay, well, since we are nowhere near where we’re supposed to be, let’s go do something.” Brendon tells me, this happy kid glowering in his eyes. He acts like I didn’t just storm out of that interview and we didn’t just have one of our infamous short arguments. 

I turn away. “No.” 

“Please, Ry.” Brendon says, grabbing at my arm. I brush it off. “We could go to Navy Pier. No one else will go with me. They all say it’s boring.” 

“Then why do you wanna go?” 

“It looks fun.” Brendon shrugs. 

I bite my lip slightly as people walk around us, obviously irritated by how we are standing in the middle of the street talking. Told you so. “Do you know how to get there or should we hail a taxi?” 

Brendon jumps up a little and smiles brightly, latching onto my arm in the process. “I swear, it’ll be worth it.” 

“Yes, but do we need a taxi, Brendon?” I ask again. 

“No. No, I know how to get there.” 

I open my arms in a then-lead-the-way kind of an action. Brendon finally lets go of me and surges forward. We walk for a short distance and then I can already see the signs for Navy Pier. There are fancy lights everywhere and people pouring in and out of the gates. Brendon walks a little faster, looking up at the main sign as we pass under it. 

“I’ve always wanted to go here.” Brendon says. 

“Why didn’t you go when we toured here last time?” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to come here. It was cold, too.” he tells me, his eyes taking in the colorful scenery. “Oh, and I’m not trying to impress you anymore either.” 

“Thanks.” I smile at him a little and when he looks over to me he only reciprocates it. “So, what is there to do here?” 

“Um, not sure. There’s a ferris wheel!” Brendon points at the giant spinning wheel in the distance. 

“No way.” I say quickly. I’m not a big fan of heights. 

“You don’t want to do anything.” Brendon pouts. 

“I’m here.” 

Brendon just shrugs and we proceed forward. Almost immediately, some fans notice us and demand autographs on shoes and pictures with expensive phones. I act like it’s nothing, but I’m still not in the mood for fan interaction. Just that thought alone scares me. When I was younger I would die for some kids asking for my autograph but now it’s lost its novelty. Brendon is always up for this stuff, though. He always makes great small talk with them and tells them he’s working on new music. Whenever I see him do something, I get jealous. He’s naturally talented at the thing we call life. 

Soon enough, though, they are out of sight and it’s just Brendon and me walking up the right side of Navy Pier. It’s getting dark and they have twinkling Christmas lights strung up above our heads. They glimmer whenever I look up into the darkening sky. People move about the restaurants and boat shows. 

“Wanna get something to eat?” 

 

Soon enough, our feet are dangling over Lake Michigan and there is a bag of French fries between us. I take one, smiling as I dip it into my chocolate shake. I breathe in the ocean and relish on the fact that there doesn't appear to be that many people on the left side of Navy Pier. 

We walked up the entire right side, not touching our food until we were on the left side. We marveled at the flags that were lined on the dozen of poles and how you could see flocks of seagulls on patches of land in the distant. The sun has set and there is an adequate amount of light for us, but not enough for fans to recognize us. We got stopped several more times, people awing at us. 

“Stars are such rip offs.” I tell him, my eyes searching through the massive skies. “In the drawings they are always so big and beautiful, but I see none.” 

“We’re in the city, Ry.” Brendon points out, downing a pile of fries in one mouthful.

“So.” I mumble. “They look just as shitty anyplace else.” 

“You’re just not looking.” he tells me, smiling at me. 

I try to ignore how much this reminds me of a date. I’m not nervous but it just has that general feeling. Us sharing a bag of French fries and staring into the sky. I don’t mind it, I just don’t want Brendon thinking anything. 

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” I ask. 

“Here on Navy Pier or, uh, Chicago?” Brendon asks, taking a fry and dipping it into his vanilla shake. I watch curiously as he stares at it after he dips it. He looks up, a goofy smile on his face. I give him a look that means I was obviously referring to Chicago. “However long Mason thinks we’re ‘friends’, I guess.” 

“I think we’re friends and I’m not lying.” 

Brendon looks over at me, a tiny bit of milkshake on his lip and I have that annoying urge to get rid of it. I only chuckle and hand him a napkin. He looks away, seemingly embarrassed as he cleans his mouth. “I think we’re, um, friends, too.” 

“That’s...good.” I say awkwardly. “Next week the first episode airs. You ready?” 

Brendon laughs. “I guess. I just pray no one in family watches it.” 

“Why?” 

“They might stop watching because of me or something. Or even worse, they’ll call me.” He smiles at me. I only smile back at him, genuinely amazed at how blunt of a kid he is. “I like when you do that.” 

“When I do what?” I say, a flicker of a smile still on my face. 

Brendon visibly swallows, him suddenly looking more serious. “You know, when you just smile and it’s really wide and you look really happy. I don’t–I don’t know, Ryan. You just do it every once in a while and it just makes me happy.” 

He looks nervous and I just stare at him. “I don’t really think about how I smile.” 

“It’s okay, I’m just...whatever.” 

“Alright, Bren.” I nod my head, my hands finding my spoon so I can pay attention to anything but the look on Brendon’s face. 

Brendon suddenly moves his hand towards my hand, and I watch interested until his hand entwines with my left hand. There’s a warm feeling in my stomach and I can assume it’s me being content, but I force it out of my head. I slowly remove my hand from Brendon’s and look into the opposite direction of his face, cupping my drink with two hands.

Sorry. 

 

A couple nights later, I’m sitting in my bed. My phone is right in front of me and I know whose number I need to dial, still my brain is extremely nervous about it. I’m not sure why, either. I force myself to dial Jon’s number and I listen to each ring, it clearly going into my eardrums. I haven’t talked to him once since getting here. I don’t like texting so we’ve only exchanged small messages when I was bored at the airport.

“Hullo.” Jon says, his familiar lisp lining his words.

My nerves drip out of my mind. “Hey!” I say happily. “What’s up?” 

“Essays.” he drones. “A million essays. All about shit. You?” 

“Bored. My apartment can’t always be that entertaining.” 

“You live in Chicago, Ryan.” he points out. “Oh! Hey, I watched the first episode. Brendon and you! You’re a better actor than I pegged, kid.” 

“Uh, thanks, Jon.” 

“Oh, no problem.” he says, a smile shining on his words. “I was actually going to call you soon but I’m going to Chicago suburbs soon to see some relatives. I’m coming to the city and I want to see Brendon and you.” 

“Really?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. “Yeah, we should do something together or something.” 

“Cool. So...how’s everything in the windy city, huh?” 

“Well, you know, a little rainy and getting colder, but not bad. Tourists won’t fucking move on the streets and I still can’t hail a cab. That seems so easy but I just can’t.” 

“I’ve never tried.” Jon says. “You and Brendon getting along better?” 

I think back to a couple nights ago, our hands entwined. I just had to be the ass that stopped it. “Uh, a lot better actually. I think we’ve fixed our relationship, Jon. It’s really nice.” 

“Finally,” Jon sighs. “Now I won’t have to be so apprehensive about him around you.” 

“You were apprehensive?” I ask, disbelieving laughter following. 

“Oh, come on. You used to flinch when I said his goddamn name, Ryan.” Jon says, following in my laughter. I have a friend that’s nice enough to be apprehensive about an ex with me. Sweet. 

I wonder silently if I should even bring up Brendon’s hand holding Navy Pier trip or even him still liking me, which I haven’t even told Jon yet. Or Alex. Or anyone but my mom for that matter. “I don’t know, though. Like, he told me he still...likes me. I just, I don’t feel that way, obviously.” 

There’s a silence and I cringe, hating every second of it. “He told you?” 

“Well, yeah, but he was, you know, drunk so– wait, did you know?” 

“Brendon and I talk all the time. Of course he told me. He just seemed kind of...scared about it. I mean, it makes sense he was drunk and stuff.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, kind of offended. 

“It wasn’t my information to tell, Ryan.” he says. “Brendon told me as a friend and he didn’t expect me to go tell you right away. I don’t tell him anything you say.” 

I never thought Jon would even consider telling Brendon anything, so I guess this all makes sense. I just don’t like how Jon is withholding information from both sides. I suddenly want to make him tell me everything that Brendon has said that involves me.

“I guess I understand.” I mumble, clearing my throat. “So you don’t tell him anything embarrassing I say, right?” 

“Why?” he smiles. “You worried?” 

Yes. 

“No, obviously not. I just don’t, you know…” 

“No it’s cool, I understand. I don’t though. I mean, you can tell him how you feel by yourself.” 

“How I feel?” I repeat, not sure what he means by that. 

“Whatever.” Jon says, not clearing anything up. “I should really go finish this essay and then work on other homework. Good luck, windy city kid.” 

“Bye, Jon.” I say grudgingly.

The line dies out and I roll my eyes, slowly getting off the bed and going to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and strip off my shirt and jeans. I turn off all the remaining lights in my apartment and go over to my unmade bed, leaping under the crooked covers and I feel relaxed. I close my eyes and then I hear it. 

It’s soft and barely noticeable, but I fucking hear it. I open my eyes, scrunching my face together. There is no way this is happening. Just on the other side of the wall, someone is emitting noises that don’t sound...not horny. My brain tries to ignore the fact that it is obviously Brendon, me already knowing what he sounds like when he moans. 

I feel so intrusive as I listen for another voice but it appears to be just him. So he’s jacking off and I can hear it. From my own goddamn apartment. My luck is unbearable. I try to block it out, shoving pillows on my head and humming a quiet song to myself. I can still hear and it bothers me how I know he’s close. 

When I force myself on my stomach, I can feel my obvious hard on get squished into the mattress. God, no, not for Brendon. Not while I am listening to him. It’s not really my choice, though. I don’t have the balls to knock on the wall or text him a threatening message. Nope, I just lay there until I move up and down slowly, my dick obviously enjoying the way it rubs my boxers. And I’m this close to joining Brendon, but then I hear a louder groan and I just somehow know it’s done. 

Sure enough, the noises stop and I’m left extremely hard, tired, and confused.


	11. Chapter 11

“William.” Mason says, his voice sounding tired and irritated. “William, this is your line.” 

We all look over to William at the end of the table. His eyes are closed and his right hand is clutching onto a paper coffee cup. I don’t think the coffee is doing anything for him. Someone nudges him slightly and he splutters to life, finding all of us looking over at him. 

“It’s your line.” Mason informs him. 

“Oh, oh yeah, sorry. I was just, uh, you know, resting my eyes and stuff.” William covers, his face going a vibrant crimson. That’s not the first time we’ve heard that. 

“Just read it.” 

William joins us for the table read and it’s been slow this morning. It’s an early start table read at five in the morning and then some of us have to go to a studio and put finishing touches on the lines that got cut off or aren’t loud enough. Unfortunately, I'm included in that group. I’m obviously not looking forward to it. It’s the least entertaining thing we have done in the past month and a half I have been in Chicago. I’m just surprised that Mason hasn't taken us out of the show yet. Then again, people have been telling Brendon and me that we’ve gotten really good at the whole acting thing. That’s a good sign. Everything seems to be a pattern and I know what’s coming at me. 

I pay attention again when we turn to page five, noticing right away that there is a scene between just Brendon and me. I smile but I don’t look over it just yet. I don’t want to spoil it because I usually like not knowing what exactly is going to happen. Brendon starts tapping his fingers on the table next to me and I use my elbow to jab him in the stomach. He only filches slightly, rubbing his invisible wound he got from my elbow. I give him a look that hopefully conveys shut-the-fuck-up-Brendon-I’m-trying-to-pay-attention. With wide eyes, he looks back down to his lines.

“I’m leaving, guys,” Hayley says in character. “Are you coming?” 

“No. I’m just going to stay here with Cameron.” Brendon says. 

He gets stopped by Mason who tells him how he’s supposed to sound and some other shit I blank out for a moment. I think about what I’m doing tonight and realize I have nothing. I guess I could go home and write. Alex has been texting me a lot lately about how sooner or later we need to get into the studio. It’s not that I don’t like music anymore; I’m just more interested in acting right now. Maybe I’ll just turn off my phone and pretend it broke.

“No. I’m going to stay here with Cameron.” Brendon retries, his voice only sounding slightly different. Mason still nods happily, though. Sometimes I don’t understand him. 

“Bye, Erica!” I say, sounding as childish and happy as I can muster. Mason says nothing so I don’t worry about it. 

“See you guys.” Hayley says, her eyes narrowing at us. I look into the script, trying to figure out why she did it. Sure enough, the cues tell her to look suspicious and she did it. 

“Hey, Cameron...” Brendon says, his voice sounding naturally shaky. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you and an Erica dating?” 

I lick my lips and quietly reread my directions until I let out a hallow laugh that I’m positive Mason will point out but I just get silence. Maybe I’m too critical of myself. “No, Emmet.” I say. “Erica wants us to be friends so…” 

“Ryan, more disappointed. You want her.” Mason chimes in and I repeat the line, trying to convey this faux sadness for a fictional character. Maybe I’m not too critical. I must do okay because Mason is silent. 

“Oh, well, do you not want to be friends with her?” Brendon asks my character and I’m kind of amazed at how well Brendon acts at just a table read. 

“Do you mean, like, do I want her to be my girlfriend?” I ask and Brendon only nods and then I look back at my script. “I guess. I’m not sure.” 

“Um, Cameron…” Brendon says and I wonder if he’s okay because he doesn’t look great. I can’t tell if it’s real or not. 

I look down at the script and try to figure out why everything is so tense. I bite my lip when I read something I really don’t want to–

“You guys don’t have to kiss now.” Mason says casually, licking the tip of his middle finger and flicking the page of his script. 

Brendon and I just nod and continue on reading our script, the room suddenly filling with this uncomfortable tension. I look over to Brendon who seems better, all of a sudden. The second we finish I turn towards Brendon and wait for Mason to leave the room to get coffee or a snack like he usually does. 

“Brendon,” I say, sounding awkward already, “we have to tell Mason.” 

Yeah, sure, maybe I’m being immature but it’s only because I feel vulnerable. Brendon’s across from me looking oh-so innocent with his lips slightly parted, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. He looks good. It’s damn irritating for me to admit it, but I always think people are attractive. I see someone practically every day that matches my ever-changing criteria. Brendon’s features aren’t in categories, though; Brendon’s just a packaged deal. I can’t have him without having all these memories included. I’m scared about us. All the thousands of fucking viewers of the show don’t need to know that. 

“Tell him what?” Brendon plays dumb. 

“We’re not going to kiss, okay? There are already so many fucking rumors and no. We’re not–no.” I explain, slumping my shoulders for effect. 

“I don’t think we really have a say,” Brendon says, “but I guess we could talk to him.” 

We both get up, people watching us. I really hate when they do that. We find Mason easily, in the break room with a plate of food next to him and a script in his hands. He appears to be completely out of it. 

“Hey Mason.” I say, trying to sound as even as I can but part of this is embarrassing. It’s like I’m some kid begging his parents to let him off the hook of some awful deed he did. 

He looks up, taking off the small glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose. “Hey guys.” he greets cautiously. “What’s up?”

“Um, it’s about the script...like,” I can’t figure out how to tell him. “um–” 

“Shit.” Mason sighs and I kind of get scared he is planning to fire me for bringing this up. “I knew it. When I wrote that I was like ‘I bet one of them is going to come up to me’ and I was right. But I don’t really want to change it, either.” 

“We’re talking about the same thing, right?” Brendon asks, confusion prevalent on his visage. 

“The kiss?” Mason asks and we both nod. “You see, I know that there are rumors or whatever.” 

“There are a lot.” I mumble. “I don’t think that, uh, like, this is a good idea.” 

“Of course it is! Amazing straight actors do same gender kissing all the time. With this you’ll be able to show you’re confident about your sexuality.” 

“Or be called even more gay.” I mumble sarcastically, looking down. I can still feel my boyish fears drowning in the words, though. I don’t bother mentioning that I’m not so confident on my heterosexuality, rather more for my preference of cocks. 

“Brendon, you’re awfully quiet.” Mason observes and I kind of wish he hadn’t. Of course Brendon doesn’t mind this. He wants to kiss me. “What is your take on this?” 

“I mean, as long as we can explain we’re not actually gay to the press, I don’t really care.” he says, not looking at me. 

“Well, obviously you’d be able to say that.” Mason tells us carefully. “I suppose, if you’re so against this, Ryan, I could edit it out but then I’d have to do a lot of changing and…” He seems to calculate all of this in his head like some lengthy math problem.

“Whatever, fine, I’ll do it.” I give in, my eyes flickering over to Brendon who looks sick again. 

“Great, well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mason says, like suddenly his work here is done. “Oh, Brendon, can you go fetch me Gem?” 

Brendon’s nervous eyes sweep across us and then he nods and leaves the room. I start walking away until I hear Mason start laughing. I turn around and find him looking at me. “What?” I ask. 

“Gem left hours ago.” Mason says, smiling smugly. 

“Why would you tell him to go get her, then?” I state the obvious because apparently that’s all I’m good for. 

“Come here,” he demands, ignoring me and pointing to the chair across from him. “Sit.” I grudgingly sit down, repressing my sighs because he is still my employer. He stares at me in that trademark way of his that essentially means he’s reading you like some book. “Are you gay?” 

I instantly want to stray from his line of eyesight and jolt from the room because, fuck, I really wasn’t expecting that. I really don’t want to tell him that I am because I don’t like people knowing. “I, um,” 

“Ryan,” he says firmly. “I’m just some director, I have no one to tell.” 

I finally look away from him and stare at the wall behind his head. I nod slightly, feeling panicked. I don’t know why admitting this is always so hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” 

“Not to make any...brace accusations but I think it’s safe to assume that perhaps Brendon and you have…” he lingers on, maybe waiting for me to fill him in. I don’t. I refuse. “Whatever. I think there might just be something in the way of you two and I really think it needs to be resolved.” 

I narrow my eyes at him, feeling kind of upset. He just thinks that he knows what’s good for Brendon and me. It’s our goddamn relationship and he has nothing to do with it. “I don’t think that–”

“Mason,” I hear Brendon say, walking in from the hallway. “Gem left, like, three hours ago.” 

“You’re right.” Mason looks thoughtful for a few seconds and then turns to me, still speaking to Brendon. “Guess I should figure these things out for myself.” 

 

In my head, I’m figuring out ways I could kill Brendon and make it look like a suicide. Honestly, only Brendon could drag me to his apartment and demand we rehearse a stupid, meaningless kiss scene. Only Brendon. The worst part is, I think he’s expecting me to actually kiss him. I have no problem doing it–God knows I’ve done it before– it’s just I’d rather wait until the filming. We’d only have to do it once and it would be over. 

“This is stupid.” I declare, throwing a pillow at him from across the couch. “I think that you're making me do this because you want to kiss me.” 

Brendon only deflects the pillow, placing it next to him. He narrows his eyes at me and tuts. “Obviously.” he snorts sarcastically, putting the pillow onto the floor. I don’t think much of it. “Look, I just don’t want to look unprofessional, okay? If we get the awkward parts out now, it’ll be easier in front of everyone.” 

“You realize it’s just a kiss?” I ask. 

“Good. Glad you understand.” Brendon says vaguely. 

I just roll my eyes and he scoots closer to me on the couch. I open my binder, skipping ahead a few pages until we get to the scene with Brendon and me. Brendon clears his throat and starts asking Cameron about his relationship status with Erica. I say the lines, already having them half-memorized. I still stare at the page the entire time, not wanting to look over at Brendon. 

“Um, Cameron…” Brendon says and I know what happens next. 

“We don’t have to.” I suggest, veering off the script into oblivion.

“Is somebody a chicken?” he smiles. 

“No. I just don’t think this is all necessary.” I elaborate. This is the part where Brendon acts like a fucking ten year old and starts making chicken noises. “I’m not a chicken, Brendon!” 

Brendon sighs and then looks down and then back up in a span of two seconds. I try not to laugh as he clears his face of emotions. “Um, Cameron…” 

“Really?” I ask. 

“Um, Cameron…” he repeats again. 

I roll my eyes and nervously give in. I lick my lips and try to make it look as non-seductive as possible. I still think Brendon is making fun of me in his head, though. I lean in and I don’t think he’s expecting it. My lips only graze over his for less than a second and I’m back to look across the room. Nowhere near Brendon. Fucking Fuck, Brendon. Now I’m the ten year old. 

“That was just a peck.” Brendon laughs and I don’t bother looking over. “In the script it says ‘Cameron and Emmet embrace in a slow, heartfelt kiss.’ Now, do you think that was slow or heartfelt?” 

“Why does it matter? I thought the whole point of this was for us to skip the awkwardness. And if you ask me, it is kind of awkward…” 

“Not as awkward as a slow and heartfelt kiss.” Brendon points out, snickering slightly. 

I’m ready to slaughter the kid. I think back to a time when you couldn’t ever convince me that I’d someday be practicing kissing Brendon Urie. At one point, I would be fucking dazzled to be in his presence. It’s worn off, though. Brendon is just human and so am I. I can even feel the angsty teenager in me die a little. 

“Brendon,” I pout, looking back over to him. “This is ridiculous. You just want a slow and heartfelt kiss from me.” 

“Well, kind of.” Brendon confesses, a smug smile on his face. “But I don’t want to fuck this up during filming so just work with me.” 

“Fine. Fucking fine, Brendon.” I give in. I start back into my lines. “I guess. I’m not sure.” 

“Um, Cameron…” 

I look over and Brendon is nearing me slowly and holy fuck. It’s like I suddenly transported back to the first time we kissed and it doesn’t set right for me. I lean in involuntarily and I could say that this kiss could be defined as ‘slow and heartfelt’ if I was into the most cheesy descriptions ever. It’s nothing like our usual kisses I remember. Instead of wanting something more after this, we just want this moment and I can tell. I’ve known Brendon has wanted this, but I didn’t really know I wanted it too.

Brendon places his hand on my face, his middle finger splaying out onto my cheek bone. I know that this has probably been a longer kiss than intended. I don’t like the fact that I don’t completely mind it. I still need to breathe, though, so I move myself off of Brendon a little. I realize I have moved a lot closer to him. I move back a little and Brendon’s hand drops off my face. There’s no guilt and shame twisting through Brendon’s eyes this time. He just looks sad. Kind of like the first time we did kiss. 

“Happy?” I ask and I’m goddamn blushing when I look down at my hands. I barely blush anymore. 

Brendon doesn’t reply right away and I wonder if he’s doing the same as me. He’s not one to blush but I feel like there’s no way he isn’t. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” 

I suddenly get more confidence when I’m pretty sure my face has gone back to its normal color. “You probably loved that, huh?” I jokingly say to ease the tension, looking up at him. He looks like he just got kicked in the stomach and I feel slightly guilty for it. 

“Hah, yeah.” he laughs coldly but sounds sad still. 

I bite my lip and sigh. Fuck. “I shouldn’t have said that, sorry.” I amend, feeling shitty. I should stop opening my mouth. 

Brendon only looks down and nods. “It’s cool. Whatever.” he sighs, looking back up at me like he’s about to admit something. “It’s just that you, well, you always–”

Before Brendon can even elaborate further, there is a knock on the door. It’s like we are in some goddamn movie or something. I jump a little but then settle back into the couch as Brendon just gives me a hopeless look as he gets up. What are you going to do, Ryan? I was just about to confess something important to you, Ryan. But someone’s at the door, sorry, Ryan. 

“That’ll be Jon.” Brendon says. 

I shoot up from the couch, surprised that he’s here. I follow Brendon to the door and when he opens it, Jon smiles brightly. He looks slightly worn, as if the traveling has worn him down. He’s got a bag slung over his shoulder, his thumbs snaked through the straps. His beard is in full effect and I repress my sarcastic comments.

“Didn’t expect you both.” he says, skipping the normal interactions of a visitor. He moves into the room, looking about. “You don’t live together, do you?” 

“No.” I say quickly, probably faster than Brendon wants to hear. “I live right next door.” 

“Oh. So, um, what did I walk in on?” he asks, a coy smile on his lips. I cringe a little and Brendon appears to be blushing again, setting some kind of record.

“We were just practicing lines.” I tell him, not giving anything away. Not that there is anything to give away. 

“‘Kay?” he laughs lightly and then slumps his shoulder. “What are we doing then?” 

“Whatever.” Brendon says, pushing his fingers through his hair. “We could go to the Water Tower mall?” 

“Alright.” Jon says. “Can I use the bathroom first?” 

Brendon nods and points to the direction of the bathroom. I stand in his living room and wish that whatever kind of awkwardness that has fallen between Brendon and me would go away. I look over to him and he’s looking straight at me. He doesn’t appear to be ashamed by it, so I don’t make a point to look away. I kind of hope he’ll finish what he was talking about before Jon knocked on the door, but he doesn’t. We just stare at each other until the sound of a toilet flushing is audible. I move my eyes to the door. 

I try to ignore this glitchy memory of us kissing. I can’t stand the way he does this thing where he embeds in my head. I even slightly wonder what it would be like living with Brendon. Strange. It would be strange. I’d have to deal with his impulsive singing and he’d have to deal with me not putting my clothes away and we’d just have to deal with each other. There’s still a part of me that thinks maybe it would all be worth it. Getting to have endless nights of talking at three in the morning when we can’t sleep. Being able to help each other with our outfits in the morning. God. Way too domestic for me. 

“I’m gonna go grab my jacket.” I say, already walking out. 

I go back to my apartment, unlocking the door with a key that’s in my wallet. I briefly look at a mirror and then snag my jacket from my bed. When I lock my door and step out into the hallway, Jon and Brendon are waiting. I smile, putting my key away. On the way downstairs, Brendon and Jon talk about things. I kind of zone out, thinking about other things. I’ve never hung out with Jon and Brendon together at the same time. I always talk to Jon alone and I can bet Brendon does the same. It’s like neither of us want to share him, either. 

While we’re in the cab, Jon finally notices my presence. “I saw your dad at the store a couple weeks ago.” he tells me. “It was weird, like, he recognized me and started mentioning you.” 

“What did he say?” I ask, slightly worried. 

“I don’t know, something about how when you were little you used to play guitar to The Beatles. I’m not completely sure why he told me, either.” he laughs nervously. Brendon is looking out the window, not seeming interested in the conversation, thankfully. 

“I honestly don’t remember that but I’m sure I know some of the songs.” I shrug. “Surprised he even talked to you. He’s only met you a few times…” 

“Yeah, like I said, it was weird.” he tells me. “He sounded nostalgic, though. I think he misses you.” 

“Doubt it.” I say, ready to change the subject but then the cab stops and there is no need for me to. 

Brendon pays the driver and we pile out into the street and into the mall’s doors. Once indoors, there isn’t much to do but go up the never ending escalator. Brendon plays with the fountain that runs down the middle, flicking Jon and me with water, a wicked smile donning his face. I only lift an eyebrow, but Jon goes over to the side and starts flicking water back at Brendon. The people behind look upset and I only smile at it. 

“Why exactly did we come here again?” Jon asks when we reach the first floor with stores. 

“Dunno,” Brendon shrugs, looking around with wide eyes, “we could go up and down in the glass elevator. There’s like a million floors in this place.” 

Jon and I both give him unimpressed looks. We find a map for all the stores, me only knowing a few names. Brendon reads each one out loud, obvious disgust in each one until he finds a chocolate shop. 

“You guys!” he shouts. “There’s a chocolate shop. We’re going. We need to go to level four.” 

Brendon grabs Jon’s and my arm and yanks us to the glass elevator he was just talking about. There’s some people waiting and we wait patiently until the door opens and we get in. Thankfully, someone pushes four and we don’t have to do anything. I turn to the glass and watch as we accelerate forward. There’s nothing to hang on so I grip onto the metal and try not to look pathetic. Jon doesn't appear to notice but I still notice Brendon’s eyes on me and a smirk on his face. 

“It’s not funny.” I pout, letting go of the metal and facing away from the view of the glass. “It’s just faster than usual elevators.” 

“Want us to take the escalators the rest of the day?” he mocks me. 

“No, I’m not–” I don’t get to finish my sentence, the elevator rocking to a stop and I nearly fall. Brendon grabs at me, his hand steadying me on my shoulder. “I’m not scared.” I declare, moving away from his touch and out of the elevator. I notice Jon staring at us but I ignore it. 

A group of us steps out of the elevator and the doors close again. I sigh and notice how there are hoards of people on this level. I shuffle closer to Brendon and Jon as we try to locate the special chocolate shop. Before we even find it, people come up to us. They ask Brendon and me for autographs on random scraps of papers, napkins, shoes, or anything they have with them. I smile and sign things and thankfully none of them ask for a photograph. I notice Jon to the side, a crooked smile on his face. Once all of the people have left, Brendon and I exchange the kind of smiles that say: glad that’s finally over. We walk back over to Jon and continue on with our venture. 

“Does that always happen?” Jon asks. I give him a confused look. “You know, mobs of kids asking you for autographs…” 

“It wasn’t a mob.” I shrug. 

“There were, like, thirty people.” he tells me. 

“Really?” Brendon asks. 

“I’ll take that as a yes; that does happen a lot.”


	12. Chapter 12

I pick at the carpet of Brendon’s apartment, wondering when I will finally fall asleep. Jon is stretched out on the couch, Brendon and me deciding to be nice and sleeping on the floor so we could watch a movie. The ending credits have already been done with for a good twenty minutes but I can’t seem to fall asleep. I’m not sure if it’s because Brendon is so close to me, his soft breathing audible in my right ear, or that I’m just not tired. I decide it’s probably the latter. It’s been a long day, us all spending way too much time at the mall and then walking aimlessly for a few hours. The heels of my feet feel sore and my legs feel stretched. I think it was worth it, though. 

“Ryan!” Brendon whisper-yells at me. 

I slowly roll around so I’m facing him. He looks worn, his hair all falling into his face. He still seems happy that I’m awake. “Brendon!” I mimic, a lazy smile finding its way on to my lips. 

“I can’t sleep.” he tells me. 

“I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t help me fall asleep, though.” he says. We both just look at each other on the brink of laughter because when it gets late we do that. “Are you angry at me?” 

“For what?” I inquire. 

“You know,” Brendon gestures vaguely with his hand that’s outside of the blanket he’s under. “The whole kiss thing. It’s just, Mason looked really pissed and he seemed–” 

“I know, I know.” I assure him. “I kinda threw a fit.” 

“Nah.” he says quickly. “I guess it makes sense why you worry. I mean, there’s already so many rumors. And those pictures don’t do anything for us.” 

I laugh a little, maybe because of the thought of the photographs that put my life off kilter, or for the fact that maybe those rumors are just a little too true. “We aren’t good at hiding things, are we?” 

Brendon just lets out a breathy laugh. “Maybe a little.” he says, but then slowly looks saddened. “I still feel like shit for that, you know?” I merely shrug. “Like, I know what I did was really, really stupid, Ry. And I know I’ve told you this bit before but I mean it. After something like that happened, I just really needed someone and–I don’t know.” 

I feel awkward as Brendon stares at me with obvious shame in his eyes. I feel bad for him in a way because he does seem to know what he did wrong. Still, though, sitting at that hotel dinner room with Brendon telling me what we had was nothing hurt way too much for me to just forgive him because of a little shame. Those stupid, anger-induced words he told me stuck with me for so long and it’s hard to just let him wash it out of our memories. Looking at him now, I really don’t want to hold him accountable for my shitty feelings.

“We all do stupid things when we’re confused.” I say quietly, and maybe it’s forgiveness or maybe it’s a shot at his obvious confusion or maybe it’s a shot at me for being confused when he showed up at my doorstep, arms full of apologies. 

“I guess.” he mumbles. “I really hated how we stopped talking and I’m just really happy that we became friends again.”

I feel giddy at his confession because I feel the same way. “Just took some psycho director forcing us to become friends.” I joke around, knowing that Brendon won’t take it badly. 

“Thanks, Mason.” Brendon hums, closing his eyes. 

I close mine too, wondering if Brendon knows that I actually am thankful for Mason. While he is cryptic and thinks he knows everything about Brendon and me, he’s also the reason that we started talking again. So, I guess I owe him that. 

I move around a little, sighing and taking my arms out of the blanket since it’s so hot. Brendon slits open his eyes and then we have brief eye contact. It’s no longer sad or twisted or awkward, it’s just comfortable. It’s nice even. I watch as Brendon slowly moves his hand towards my own. He doesn't seem scared for rejection as his fingers thread through mine. I could easily shake it off and turn the other way. Instead I just close my eyes and give his hand a little squeeze. 

 

“Are you nervous?” Hayley asks me, staring at her reflection in my mirror. 

“Why would I be?” I shrug. 

I turn down the music that Hayley turned on when she came into my dressing room. She’s got her stage clothes on and her hair and makeup done. I think she just finished with one of her scenes. I have yet to get called out. I won’t tell Hayley, but I am a little nervous. I don’t expect a kiss with Brendon to be challenging, it’s more the aspect that everyone will be watching. There will be cameras. It annoys me to a certain extent. I know it’s my job and I’m acting. It means nothing.

“You used to date him!” she shouts at me like I suddenly forgot all about that. 

“Any quieter, really?” I say sarcastically. “And I didn’t technically date him.” 

“You had sex with him, so whatever, close enough.” she waves a hand at me, then uses it to fix her hair slightly. “Is your family going to call you up and be like ‘Hey, Ryan, I watched you on TV and you kissed a guy!’ because that would be so awkward?” 

“I really hope not.” I say, honestly not caring about what my family thinks of me. Most of them already know I’m gay so I guess it doesn’t matter. “I feel more bad for Brendon.” 

“Why?” she asks quickly, making sure I don’t ignore her, which I do a lot. 

“His whole family is really religious and shit so his older brother like hates him.” I tell her but then feel slightly bad for telling her things Brendon might not want me spreading. “Don’t tell anyone, though.” 

“That sucks.” Hayley nods her head like she somehow understands. “I have a cousin who’s gay. He’s really nice, actually. Nothing like you, though.” 

“Probably a good thing I don’t fit any gay stereotypes.” I mutter. 

“Oh, no, you do.” she amends. “You’re just a little different, like, you don’t have the whole lisp thing.” 

“Uh, thanks?” 

I lean back into the crappy couch they accommodate the rooms with. I open my line binder and flip some pages, deciding it might be a good idea just to look my lines over once more. I realize there are loose papers and I collect them all. 

“What the fuck…?” I whisper, reading the first few lines. 

I hear Hayley get up and she looks over my shoulder and reads. A shrill laugh makes me realize that we are both reading fan-fiction about Brendon, William, and me. “Oh my god!” she laughs harder, snatching the first paper from me and starts reading from where she must have left off. “‘William slowly pushed down Ryan’s briefs, a devilish grin on his face.’” I’m trying to retrieve the paper from her, Hayley only running around the couch, continuing to read. “‘Brendon appeared at Ryan’s side, placing small kisses on his neck and–’”

“My God, Hayley, stop!” I shout, finally catching hold of the paper. It rips in half, Hayley looking somewhat victorious. 

“Ooh, William gives you a blow job!” she shares. I try to get the other half away from her. At least she’s stopped reading it out loud. “Whoa, Brendon fingers you. Guys do that?” she looks thoughtful for a few seconds and I roll my eyes. “This is way too gay for me, not gonna lie.” 

She laughs and hands me the other side. I take it, my face turning hot. I collect the papers, throwing them into the trash can but not before I tear them up into tiny pieces.

“Interesting place to hide your sexy reading material.” Hayley snorts, sitting back down near the mirror. 

“It’s not mine.” I refuse to let her believe that I read that shit. “Who the hell wrote that?” 

“It had a URL at the top, but you threw it away.” she tells me. “Let me Google it.” 

I ignore her, rolling my eyes and go back to double checking my lines. I still can’t help but to think about the papers, though. Seriously, William, Brendon, and me? Together? Sex with them sounds awful let alone just Brendon again. 

“Ryan!” Hayley squeals, jumping up. She brings the laptop and her body to the couch and sits right next to me. “Look! There are stories for all of us. I’m in some of these.”

“That’s disgusting.” I groan, pushing the laptop away. 

“There’s a lot of Brendon and you, though.” she tells me. I try to block it out, but I can’t really do that. 

“Please stop talking.” I say, scrunching up my nose at the thought. 

There’s a tentative knock on the door and then Brendon is walking in holding up papers. “I’m assuming I’m not the only one.” he says, sounding much calmer than I was. 

I nod, sighing loudly. “Well, I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t you, me, or William that did this.” 

Brendon and I look over to Hayley who is still looking through pages on her laptop. When she looks up at the silence, she smiles. “Really?” she snorts. “I didn’t prank you guys, okay? I think you’ve got issues I don’t need to add to.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask. 

“Did you read this garbage?” William is suddenly at my slightly ajar door. 

“Enough of it.” I say, my voice rising sounding annoyed and whiny to my own ears.

“Seriously, they didn’t even know the differences of ‘your’.” William complains, sounding like an editor or something. “Not to mention, whoever wrote it misspelled my name several times.” 

“Are those really on your top priorities right now, William?” I ask, sighing twice as loud as I did a moment ago. 

“I mean, like, it’s not even that hard to spell…Oh, and Brendon and Ryan, you’re supposed to be on set now.” William tells us. “Good luck with that whole kiss thing after all of this.” 

I only give him an exasperated look before jumping off the couch. Brendon and I head to set in complete silence. 

 

Thankfully, Brendon doesn’t show up while Jon is hanging out in my apartment. I’m sure he’s aware Jon’s here, he just won’t come. I don’t blame him. Jon is still snuggled up on the left side of my couch, flinching at everything that pops out during the scary movie we’re watching. It’s almost over so they save all the most terrifying images just for the end. I’m not really into the movie. I mainly laugh at every time Jon jumps and then he’ll flip me off, turning his attention back to the TV. 

Once it’s over I stand up and stretch. “God, next time I’m picking the movie.” I tell him. “That was shit, man.” 

“Better than a documentary about the fucking Titanic.” he tells me. 

“That was once!” I shout in defense. “And I thought it was great.” 

Jon rolls his eyes, stretching his legs into the space where my body just vacated. “Ryan, can I just sleep on your couch tonight? I really don’t want to take the train over to my grandparents’ place.” 

“I don’t care.” I shrug. 

I walk out the room and into my kitchen. I grab a bag of chips that are probably past their expiration date and walk back into the living room. Jon is on the phone, now sitting up on the couch. He’s talking to what I can only assume is his grandma or grandpa about his sleeping arrangements. I only smirk and sit down, already devouring the chips. 

Jon hangs up the phone and reaches for the bag. I grudgingly hand them over. He eats one and then makes a sour face, throwing the bag back at me. “Fuck, Ryan, how old are these?” 

I check the dates on the top. “Best by November third.” I tell him. “Not that bad, maybe two weeks off.” “That’s disgusting.” he says, rolling off of the couch and making his way into my kitchen. I stare at the ceiling while he’s gone. He comes back with a cooked Hot Pocket. I realize I didn’t even hear the microwave, too developed in my own head. We sit in silence while we eat. It’s comfortable enough, but Jon still fills it. “So how was work today?” 

“Shit.” I mutter, angrily eating a chip and mentally recapping the day in my head. “Some dick put fan-fiction in my line folder.” 

“What kind of fan-fiction?” Jon asks, still smiling even if he can tell how much I hate this. 

“It was like a fucking threesome with me, Brendon, and his ex, William.” I tell him, sighing loudly. “And then Hayley started reading it out loud and when we filmed the kiss scene it was even more awkward.”

“Kiss scene?” Jon repeats, confusion painting his face. 

“Oh, fuck.” I cringe. I’m technically not allowed to tell people what we’re filming but Jon is my best friend and I doubt he’ll go running around telling secrets. “Well, Mason, the director, put in this elaborate romance for Brendon and me and he made this whole kiss scene. It was so stupid. I tried to get him to take it out but then he started guilt tripping me and, I swear, Jon, he mind fucks us.” I just keep going and I’m not sure why Jon isn’t stopping me. I guess I’m just in the mood to speak, which doesn’t happen that often. “He’s always trying to read Brendon and I’s relationship or something. He acts like he’s God and knows everything.” 

“At least Brendon and you are friends again.” he tells me, kind of ignoring my whole Mason rant. “You always said you wanted that.” 

“Yeah, but now it’s fucking difficult.” I whine. “I feel like whenever Brendon and I hang out it’s like he’s trying to get closer and closer to me. Like we went to Navy Pier together. It was fun but he tried to hold my hand and I was like ‘no’ because if I let him do it he’ll get mixed emotions or some shit.” 

“Did you want to hold his hand?” Jon asks, complete seriousness on his face. 

I look across the room, knowing the answer to the question already. “I dunno.” I say seriously, then I laugh maybe a tad cynically. “Damn, I feel like I’m in third grade, Jon.” 

Jon gives me one of those smiles that somehow make me feel better. I’m not sure how he does it but he still manages. “Brendon is pretty immature sometimes.” 

He is certainly right. Brendon can act like an attention-deprived five-year-old a lot around me. It’s just lately, he hasn't been. It’s like coming here has matured him or something. There’s a little part of me that misses his immature rattling and doing stupid things. It’s like this one time on tour he came into my bunk at, like, three in the morning with two juice boxes and we discussed strategies on how to kill people from what we’ve learned from CSI Miami. Suddenly, now that I’m thinking about this, Brendon just seems older and more mature since we started talking again. I silently wonder if, by chance, it’s all my fault. Maybe me breaking his heart kidnapped any bit of childish play in him. 

I merely shrug to Jon, not bothering to explain my thoughts. I tend to do that a lot. Instead I attempt to change the subject. “So, uh, how about you, Jon? You never talk about...Katie?” 

“Cassie.” Jon corrects, looking only a tiny bit offended and more disappointed. I ignore it. “We’re fine. Like, she’s in Maine in college. We haven’t exactly seen each other in a while.” 

“That sucks.” I say. I hate sounding so empathetic but I still can’t comfort people, especially if I can’t exactly relate. 

“Kind of.” he shrugs. I watch as he picks at the couch and looks slightly crestfallen. 

“I think, um, I’m gonna go to bed.” I tell him, standing up, the bones in my legs cracking slightly. “I’ll go get you a blanket and pillow.” 

I shuffle out of the room, noticing Jon nodding. He looks tired and I think I may just be mirroring it. I find him a bulky white blanket from the closet and snag a pillow from my bed, depositing them on his lap. He takes them, still seeming a little solemn. 

“You okay?” I ask, not exactly having the right intention on being able to help him. I can offer listening to his problems, though. That might help. 

“Me?” he asks, cocking his head slightly and then he smiles. “I’m good, man, really. Thanks.” 

I nod and then retreat to my room, sliding off my jeans but not bothering with my cotton V-neck. I fall into my bed, dousing myself in the never-ending duvet. I breathe under the covers, feeling like my lungs have filled with warm air. I resurface slightly, feeling better when I gulp cold air. 

It’s getting colder out for being nearly the end of November. Only a few days left and it will be December already. It doesn’t seem completely accurate in my head. Acting has completely stolen my time and I don’t exactly mind. I really like it and I’m kind of scared for when Mason tells Brendon and me it’s our last episode. I mean, this season can’t go on much longer. 

I think I drift asleep a little until I get rudely awaken by soft grunts. I blink a little, staring into darkness. I listen more intently until I hear more grunts and I almost pound on the wall. Honestly, how often does Brendon feel the need to get off so loudly I can hear from my apartment? I wonder if Jon can hear it. God, he might even think it’s me. I might be a pretty terrible host, but no, I wouldn’t do that. 

I’m not even sure at what time he finally finishes but I’m about to go crazy. If Jon wasn’t here I might even be tempted to join Brendon in a really fucked up, secretive way. I don’t, though. Instead, I lie in bed and hope that when I see Brendon tomorrow I won’t think about the sounds he makes while coming.


	13. Chapter 13

“Ryan! Holy fuck! Go answer the fucking door!” 

“Who is the door fucking?” I deadpan to another call for help from Jon.

I slowly open my eyes, realizing that there is someone knocking on the door of my apartment. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. This needs to stop happening. I take Jon’s helpful advise and decide to answer the beckoner. I trudge to the door and Alex is waiting at the doorstep, a hand on his hip. Jack is next to him, looking much more happy. Both of them have a suitcase right next to them and a backpack slung on themselves. 

“Finally.” Alex rolls his eyes, pushing through me and into my apartment. Jack follows him, staying close. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask. 

“You didn’t read my email did you?” he asks, shaking his head. “I even texted you last night.” 

I realize Jon is standing awkwardly on the other side of the room in his pajama pants and ruffled, sleep hair. He doesn’t look too uncomfortable, having met both Jack and Alex a few times. “Should I leave?” he asks. 

“No,” I shake my head, “no, it’s cool. Just, Alex, what are you talking about?” 

“My God. We have to perform at some award show tomorrow so the rest of the guys are here. I just was planning to stay with you for the night. Thought we could work on some songs or something.” 

“Oh.” I say, looking down awkwardly. “You texted me last night?” 

Alex shakes his head in a manner that’s not exactly showing happiness towards me. “Can I stay then?” 

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, you’d have to sleep on the couch but I don’t think Jon minded and I don’t think he’s staying tonight. I mean, it’s kind of small for both of you,” I nod to Jack. “but, uh...” I trail on, not exactly wanting to explain I know they’ve shared smaller amounts of space. 

Jon appears out of no where, wearing jeans and a new shirt. He’s standing by the door, a backpack now in his grasp. “Hey,” he holds up his cell phone, “gonna go over to Brendon’s.” 

“That’s where I’m staying.” Jack tells us, finally speaking up. “Would you mind if I came along?” 

Jon smiles a little, hitching the backup up on his shoulders. “Uh, I guess. I mean, it’s just next door.” 

“Really?” he asks, his face brightening up. “Awesome okay, yeah, I’m gonna go surprise him. Bye Ryan.” He doesn’t say goodbye to Alex, just kisses him sweetly. I look away. 

Jon and Jack leave and I’m left standing next to Alex silently. I stare at how he dyed his hair a different shade of blonde that only I or a super fan would ever notice. Besides that, he’s still the same kid I toured with for a couple months. 

“So,” he says, “you live right next to Brendon…” 

I watch horrified as he mimics a blow job with his tongue poking his cheek. I sigh loudly. “Really, Alex? I have the power to make you sleep in the hallway.” 

“I would sleep with Jack. You’re just lucky I want to sleep.” he shrugs. “I’ll take it that Brendon and you haven’t made up yet. Fuck, that means I owe Jack fifteen dollars.” 

“You were taking bets on us?” I ask incredulously. 

“We all thought you’d be back with him by now. Well, except for Jack.” 

“We?” 

“Just, you know, Dal, Spence, Josh, and Patrick.” 

“They all thought we’d be back together by now?” I say, feeling a little bad for myself. They’re all making fucking bets behind our backs and it pisses me off. Alex merely nods. “Awesome. Well, fuck you guys. We’re not and I’m not doing that again, okay? I told you, I’m done.” 

“Oh, come on!” Alex says, walking past me and crashes onto my couch. “Calm it down, man. It started as a joke, if that makes you feel any better?” 

“No. No, not really.” I say, sounding like a moody teenager, which I might just be. 

“You guys really haven’t done anything? No romantic dates or, uh, even more romantic events.”

“Stop. Seriously.” I say, sitting across from Alex on the ground. “It’s not funny and I haven’t.” 

“I mean, you live next door to the kid. He gave you head while Patrick and Josh were in the bus!” 

“How do you even know about that?” I shout, putting my head in my hands. I don’t even want to look at him. I feel a tad ashamed because when he said it like that it sounds pretty bad. 

“Dude, don’t worry.” he tries to make me feel better. “Like, I’ve totally done that to you.” 

“What?” I ask, picking up my head and staring at him amazed. I really hope he is lying because this is not the type of condolence I want. 

“That…doesn't matter.” 

I try to block out any unwanted thoughts about late night Alex and Jack escapades. “But, how did you know about that?” 

“Jack told me once.” he shrugs. 

“Great, so Brendon is just telling everyone about our past.” I sigh. “Literally, we work with his ex and he’s now best friends with him and tells him about us.” 

“Really? Wow, that must be, um, interesting.” 

“More like fucking irritating.” I tell him. “And the ex just thinks it’s so funny and they’re best friends or something. God, he’s probably plotting something.”

“Plotting something?” Alex repeats. 

“I don’t know. I’m just worried he’s going to hurt Brendon somehow.” 

“You’re worried?” 

“Stop it!” I shout at him. “God forbid I worry about my friend.” 

“So, you’re friends?” 

I stand up from the ground and angrily walk to my bedroom. I slam the door, searching the half-empty drawers for a pair of jeans. I tug on a tighter pair and manage to zip them up. I find a semi-loose shirt and slip it on, finally leaving my room and grabbing my wallet from the kitchen table. Alex is still sitting on the couch, his phone in his grip. 

“I’m going to Brendon’s; please don’t follow me.” I say, closing the door with as much force as I can manage. 

I knock on Brendon’s door and I can already hear laughter. The door opens and Jon takes one look at me before widening it for me. I head into the living room, taking a seat on the couch where I’m pretty sure Jon was sitting. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. Everyone’s looking at me but not saying anything. I’m about to ask what happened but then Jack speaks up. 

“Where’s Alex?” he asks from right beside me. 

“I don’t care.” I shrug, picking at my cuticles and not making eye contact with anyone. My casual post-fight look. I’m sure Jon can tell. I wonder if Jack and Brendon might be able to spot out my usual habits. 

I look up when Brendon starts talking. “What happened?” he inquires, standing up and getting a cup on a glass table by the window. I watch as his fingers wrap around the undeniably cheap plastic and he takes a sip. 

“Nothing important.” 

I’m silently praying to myself that they couldn’t actually hear me talking to Alex. Sometimes I hear Brendon on the phone, but usually it’s just muffles. I never care enough to put my ear against the wall. But maybe Brendon would be, considering we were talking about him. 

There’s a knock on the door and we all know who it is. Jack pops up from the couch, even though Jon is already headed there. Jack strolls past him and opens the door, grabbing Alex’s hand and leading him into the apartment, no words exchanged between them. 

“Glad this one was the right door.” Alex says, sounding annoyed. “Someone didn’t tell me which one was your apartment.” 

“What part of ‘don’t follow me’ did you not understand?” I retort. 

“You’re being a douche tonight for no reason.” Alex says casually. “I got it, let’s go out. Do something. Party?” 

“Yes!” Brendon yells, looking like a little kid finally able to leave the house. “We should!” 

 

Thanks to Brendon’s relentless begging after Alex brought up the idea to ‘party’, we are all sitting at a bar, though only some of us are legal. We invited some people from the cast to come along. They have already started socializing and dancing across from the bar. Sadly, William had managed to snag an invite. Still, the bartender passes us drinks with a coy smile that might be wanting more but we aren’t taking the hints. Instead, we all sip the expensive drinks and make small talk. I’ve stopped being angry at Alex and instead stuck with being cold. 

“We need to dance.” Jack says after downing a transparent liquid shot, making a bitter face. “Yes! Dancing, we need to dance, guys.” 

Alex follows, obviously, but Jon stays with Brendon and me. I’m grateful for that. I do kind of want to ask Brendon about his running mouth of our relationship past, but I wait for Jon to leave. 

“I can’t believe you guys.” Jon mutters. “You get free drinks. For what?” 

“We made music and stuff.” I shrug. I’m not completely sure how all of this happened but I can only blame Brendon. 

“Fuck.” Jon groans. “I have to go back to California tomorrow. I’m missing classes for this shit.” 

“You’re spending time with us, though!” Brendon cheers, offering Jon a shot glass. He accepts it and drinks it down in one gulp. 

“You’re right, Brendon…” Jon hums. “Do you wanna go dance with me?” 

Jon’s directing the question at Brendon. It’s not that strange because Jon just doesn’t want to dance alone. Brendon’s eyes flicker over to me and I try to look like I don’t mind him embarking away from me for the night. I watch tentatively as Brendon’s grip on the glass he’s grasping tightens and then he shakes his head. 

“Nah, man. Jack and Alex are out there so just go and, um, socialize and shit.” 

“Cool, okay. Bye guys.” Jon laughs a tad unnecessarily and then stumbles to find Jack and Alex even if he barely knows them and they are probably grinding against just each other and forgetting about the rest of the crowd around them. 

Brendon looks back at me wearing a crooked grin like even he knows what is about to happen to Jon. We both laugh a little. Brendon asks the bartender nicely for some fancy shots for him and me, biting his lip slightly and doing that thing where he widens his eyes. I would have fallen for it. The bartender does the same, smiling seductively and then going to get the glasses. 

“Always works.” Brendon remarks. “So, why were you and Alex all mad today?” 

“Something stupid that I’m not going to tell you about.” I say. 

The bartender comes back with two filled shot glasses in hand and pushes them across the bar to us. I take one of them and Brendon follows. We stare at each other with strange smiles on our faces, just holding the shots in our hands. Brendon licks his lips in the most non-seductive way and then starts counting down from five. I just watch his mouth as he says each number in perfect tempo and then suddenly it’s ‘zero’ so I bring the small glass to my mouth. The liquid doesn’t spend much time in my mouth, me swallowing it all right away. I can feel a slight burn, but it feels great. I still end up making a boyish face when I slam the empty shot glass on the bar. Brendon does the same. 

“We’re all wimps.” Brendon tells me. 

“No, I just haven’t had enough yet.” I defend myself. 

“Mm, okay.” he says, sounding doubtful. “Why can’t you tell me?” 

“Huh?” 

Brendon laughs a little, showing his straight teeth. “Before the shot, you know, we were talking about Alex and you fighting and you said you couldn’t tell me.” 

“Oh, oh yeah.” I mutter, thinking of something I could say that would appease him. “It would be no fun if I told you.” 

“Okay, then what about a game?” he offers, raising his eyebrow. I give him a questioning look in response. “You tell me a secret and I’ll tell you a secret.” 

“What, are we in middle school again?” I snort, laughing off the idea of even playing this game with Brendon. “We could play spin the bottle too.” 

“No, shut up! Trust me, this game is always fun. Like, I could probably come up with a great secret.” 

“Brendon, I’d probably end up telling you my secret and then you would tell me something stupid like ‘I sleep naked.’” 

“You already know that, though!” 

I look away from him, trying to get the mental imagine of naked Brendon wrapped in bed sheets out of my head. He must catch onto my awkwardness because he starts laughing, ordering yet another drink with puppy dog eyes. I only judge him and silently wonder how many free drinks Brendon can possibly score from this poor woman before he gets her fired. Knowing him, he’ll probably leave an extravagant tip. 

“You gotta tell me why you were upset at Alex before I tell you my dirty secret.” Brendon singsongs. 

“You’re so immature.” I inform him, even though I think he knows that already. “If you must know, he told me about how he knew you gave me head while Josh and Patrick were on the bus. Like, how many people are you telling our past to?” I leave out the part about the bet, not feeling the need to tell him about that. 

“Shit, really? That’s it?” Brendon starts laughing loudly, slapping my shoulder lightly. “I told Jack because he’s my best friend.” 

“I didn’t go informing Jon about our sexual...encounters, though.” I say. “Wait, you haven’t, have you?” 

“Told him…? No! You could have. Kid’s a little too straight for me to scar him with those kind of things.” 

“Everyone is too straight compared to you, Brendon.” 

“Hey!” he shouts, still smiling at me. “I’ve fucked loads of women, alright?” 

“Sure.” I mock-nod, laughing a little. “The worst part about the fight was because Alex seriously told me that he’s done that to me with Jack! Like, why would he tell me that? He’s lucky I have shitty hearing or else I would be remembering some night where I did, in fact, hear noises but didn’t say anything.” 

“Wait,” Brendon says, looking serious all of a sudden. We both lean our bodies closer in the barstools like Brendon is about to tell me another secret that absolutely no one can hear. “Did he receive it or did he give it?” 

“What?”

“The head!” 

“Oh my god, Brendon, I didn’t ask!” 

“Well, there’s a big difference.” Brendon says, finally receiving his drink. There’s another one I can only assume he ordered for me, as well. I take it silently. 

“You have to tell me your secret now.” I remember the rest of the bargain, thankfully. 

“Yours sucked, though.” Brendon complains. 

“I don’t care. You asked to know why, I told you. Now, what is your secret?” 

“Do you really want to know?” he asks, a devious smirk on his face. He’s still leaning closer to me and I get slightly worried for what he’s about to tell me. He did refer to his secret as ‘dirty’ but I wasn’t taking it suggestively until now. I still manage a nod. Brendon bites his lips, still smiling. “I totally got off to that fan-fiction someone put in our line binders.” 

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. “My God, you’re serious.” I say after a moment of him not cracking up. “That shit was awful.” 

“Did you actually read it, though?” Brendon asks, and I instantly shake my head, signifying there is no way in hell I would continue reading. “While it was poorly written, it was still super hot. Like, just imagine it: you, me, William, all fucking.” 

“Brendon!” I say, moving away from him and shoving him slightly. He only looks a little distraught. 

“Seriously!” he shouts but quiets down right after. “In it, you let me finger you and Will was tied up and, seriously, it was great.” 

I feel my face going a little red, allowing myself to actually think about that. “You’re so weird.” is the only thing I can manage to tell him, my lie soaking the words.

“What if…” Brendon trails on, his eyes flickering over to the mass of people dancing. I already know what he’s going to propose and I don’t like it whatsoever. “I got William and then we, uh, go someplace?” 

“No.” I tell him firmly. “That sounds like an awful idea.”

“Ryan,” Brendon whines, “please! It would be great and you know it. Relationship aside, you must miss the whole getting off with me part.” 

“I dunno.” I shrug, feeling myself start to give in a little. I’m sure that Brendon can tell too. 

Brendon only flickers a smile at me and then gets up from his barstool. “I’m going to go find Will.” he says, pausing for a second, as if he’s waiting for me to object. I sit silently, biting my lips slightly. 

I watch as he walks off and I grab for his half-full drink, unlike mine. I take a long swallow and when I look up, I can see Brendon standing dangerously close to William, probably telling him the plan. I pick at my fingers until they both waltz back, looking like the epitome of drunken people who kind of want to fuck right now. 

“A cab.” Brendon mutters. “A cab, yes, we need a taxi cab.” 

“I take it we’re going to your apartment, Brendon.” William asks, even though we all live a few doors down from each other. 

“No, Jack is staying at my place. Can we do it at yours?” 

William merely shrugs. 

We start walking to the door and I don’t bother telling anyone I’m leaving. I’ll text them later. We round a corner and then the street livens up. There are at least a million cars driving way too fast. William hails a taxi in one try and Brendon high fives him. I feel out of the equation somehow. 

Once we pile into the cab and someone, obviously not me, tells the driver where to go, I can feel Brendon’s fingers on my thigh. Even though my head is screaming it’s a bad idea, I let him move his somewhat idle fingers over me until he stops dangerously close to my crotch. I look up at Brendon, who only smiles innocently and recoils his hand, placing it neatly in his lap. 

The rest of the ride is silent and I can feel the tension build. William and I still kind of hate each other. I try to pretend this doesn’t matter. This is some detour or mistake that I won’t own up to later. But for now, I plan on making the most out of it. 

When we arrive at William’s apartment, only a few doors down from Brendon’s and mine, he pulls out a key to unlock the door. We all fall in and William shuts the door quickly, as if he’s the one who’s ashamed of all of this. Before I can even look around the place, William grabs for Brendon, their lips meeting right away. I stare, never having seen Brendon kiss someone else besides Sara. This time, it doesn't look heartfelt, rather sloppy and cheap. He looks at ease as he puts his arm on his shoulder. Brendon still pulls away, though. 

“Can we get to the fucking part?” he asks, sounding desperate to my ears. 

We all nod and without words exchanged, start tearing off our own clothes. I stop once I’m just in my boxers, a tad hesitant to go forward. Brendon only gives me a teasing smile, slipping his own off and then heading for me. I’m sure I have wide eyes as he corners me, pushing his body into me. 

“No need to be shy.” he whispers in my ear, moving apart from me slightly and then his hands push my boxers down to the ground. 

After that, everything goes at a much faster pace. Brendon and I start making out, our tongues battling in my mouth. William is behind Brendon, one of William’s arms wrapped around his torso. I’m not sure what exactly they are doing, but Brendon moans into my mouth. When we break apart, I realize that William already has a finger in Brendon. Suddenly, I understand why Brendon thought this would be so hot. 

I slowly get down on my knees in front of Brendon, taking a tight breath. I’m still slightly nervous as Brendon looks down at me, amazement playing out on his already turned-on face. I wasn’t nervous when I gave a blowjob to that stranger for the first time, but I am now. For some reason, Brendon’s acceptance matters to me. I still smile at him and then wrap my fingers around the base of Brendon’s dick. He doesn't make any noises, which slightly surprises me. 

I take the head of Brendon’s dick into my mouth and lightly suck on it. This time, he does groan a little. Brendon’s rocking forward a little because of William’s fingers pushing into him and when I take all of Brendon into my mouth, I can tell. He doesn’t seem to mind, letting out a low moan and grabbing for my hair. I look up and see Brendon, eyes closed and a look of concentration on his face. William is attached to his backside, sucking the skin around Brendon’s ear. I ignore all of that and go back to work because I’ve never given Brendon head and I’m not going to disappoint. 

“Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon breathes. I don’t bother looking up at him. “When did you learn how to do that?” 

I don’t say anything in reply, just suck harder and try not to gag. Brendon’s grip in my hair tightens and I’m pretty sure he’s close. I slowly move off of him and stare at Brendon. He looks sad but William’s still finger-fucking him so he can’t be too devastated. 

“Fuck me, please.” Brendon chokes out, obviously talking to William but looking me in the eyes.

I stand up, my knees suddenly feeling awful. I ignore it and instead start kissing Brendon. He gets quiet as I push a tongue into his mouth. My hand finds his dick and I start jerking him off. It doesn’t take long for Brendon to pull out of our kiss, breathless and red-faced. 

“Not yet. I need to be fucked. Like now.” he tells us, a small smile on his lips. 

William moves away and walks into a room that I automatically know is his bedroom. I unintentionally grab Brendon’s hand and then drag him towards where William went. The room is exactly like mine but instead of it being empty of people, there are three, all stark naked. I watch as William gets what appears to be lube and a condom wrapper out of a nightstand. I think it has already been silently decided that William is fucking Brendon, which makes me a little sad. 

While William works on putting lube and a condom on his dick, Brendon grabs mine. He lightly strokes it in an almost teasingly manner and I kind of hate him for it. Brendon starts biting at my neck and I instantly move my head back so he gets more skin. I take in a long breath and Brendon starts jerking me off faster. 

“Brendon?” William says, in a questioning tone. 

Brendon suddenly stops all touching of me and turns around to William. I watch as Brendon smiles and goes over to him. It bothers me slightly how he just obeyed him. They kiss until they fall into the bed. I watch, jealousy sparking in me. Why did I agree to let William be here? It would have been better with just Brendon and me. The fan-fiction is the whole excuse to this whole thing, though, and sadly, it called for all three of us. 

I stand and watch, in a strange awe, as William whispers something into Brendon’s ear. I get sort of angry because, fuck, when did this become just their thing. I’m here, too. I still watch as Brendon gets on his hands and knees. I feel like a stalker watching or something. 

Brendon’s eyes flicker up to me and beckon me forward, his mouth not even opening once. I keep eye contact with him as I walk over, our lips instantly meeting. I can literally feel when William pushes into Brendon, him letting out a moan into our kisses. He bites my lip a little and I break away from him a second, not expecting him to do that. His eyes are still closed and, holy fuck, this is the best advice I’ve ever taken from Brendon. 

William gets into a good rhythm fucking Brendon and I don’t feel quite right just kissing him. I want to be the one fucking him, not William. When Brendon starts moaning too much in our kisses I break off and just watch as William jerks off Brendon and fucks him at the same time. I can tell Brendon’s close. William, as well. 

Suddenly, I feel like I should talk. 

“Hey, Bren, you wanna know another secret?” I ask in a low voice. Brendon’s eyes flash open. He nods slowly, his eyebrows pulling together. “I can hear you jerk off in my room...and I always want to join.” 

“Ryan.” he moans, and then he’s coming all over himself. 

William must be doing the same because he slows down and lets out a string of curse words. Once they finally come out their post-orgasm haze, Brendon must realize that I’ve yet to get off or really get attention. There’s still a sense of pride for having pulled Brendon over by talking to him, but my cock doesn’t exactly appreciate that.

“Come ‘ere.” Brendon says, standing up and pulling me close. 

He jerks me off and I don’t ask for anything better. Brendon stops all of a sudden, giving me a smile and then turning around. I can’t see what he’s doing but he starts kissing me again very soon. When I feel a cold finger at my entrance, I know instantly what he was doing. 

“Can I?” he asks when he breaks away, his voice breathless. 

I nod quickly and he starts putting his finger into me. I’ve never done it to myself or have had anyone do it to me, so it’s strange at first. It’s not amazing, though it’s not awful. Brendon goes in further and then pulls out in all. We’re still kissing and it’s sloppy and not careful at all. Brendon pushes another finger into me without consent and I can already feel the stretch. Before I can even tell him it kind of hurts, he hits what must be my prostate and I moan loudly. 

“Shit. Yes. Do that.” I demand, breathing heavily in between words.

He smiles into our kiss and after he pushes in just right a few more times, I come all over his hand. He doesn’t mind and wipes it off on a loose pair of boxers on the ground. I smile a little as I realize they’re probably William’s since we did all the unchanging in the other room. When we head for the bed, wordlessly, William is already on the side, his eyes closed. I let Brendon have the middle and cozy up next to him. He drapes an arm around me and I realize I might get decent sleep tonight.


	14. Chapter 14

It’s not that unusual when I wake up. The ceiling is exactly what I’m used to. I’m sure it’s some kind of intricately named type of white paint and is cracked in strange places. I’ve woken up to it for a month or two now but there still is something new. It’s the body heat. It’s not like I haven’t fallen asleep next to a person ever, it’s just foreign to me now. I blink a few times and then realize Brendon is connected to me. His head is resting on my bare chest, his shallow breaths puffing against my chilled skin. My hand is entwined in is hair without my consent, and his is tugging at my waist. 

I look over to the side of us and see William and that is the exact moment I figure out what went on last night. I feel my chest sting a little and my breathing go tight as I try to move Brendon off of me, trying not wake him from his slumbers. I stand up, still completely naked and take a brief glance at the two in bed. Fuck. William rolls over a little and his eyes flicker open. 

I’m not exactly worried about his reaction to me leaving without words, so I just stare at him. He sends me a confused glance. I drop my eyes towards Brendon and then I watch as he rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around Brendon and scooting closer to him. I force myself to look away and go back to the living room to find my clothes. 

I find my boxers and jeans in a discarded pile in the doorway. I hurry to put them on, trying to be quiet with my belt. After I put on my shirt, I peek into the bedroom and see Brendon and William unbearably close to each other. I can tell what I’m feeling is jealousy but I can’t pinpoint why I’m feeling it.

I slip out of the apartment, checking for my keys, phone, and wallet that are still stored in my back pocket. I realize that I never did end up texting Alex, Jon, or even Jack and let them know what was going on, minus some important details. I can already bet that Alex is going to be all pissy about me leaving him alone for the night. 

I walk into my my apartment a little worried, dropping the key off on the counter of the kitchen. I can hear the TV blaring and I look around to see Jack and Alex staring at me from the couch. 

“Where’s Jon?” I ask, scanning the rest of the room for his body.

“Left this morning to the train station.” Alex tells me, sounding kind of annoyed at me not being there. 

I look away and don’t bother explaining. Instead I take the walk of shame to my room in the same clothes I wore last night. I close the door and fall into my bed, disappointed in myself. I toe off my shoes and move up to the pillows, staring at the same ceiling that was in William’s apartment. 

It’s not long until there’s a short knock on the door and Alex is walking in, not waiting for permission. 

“You’re a liar.” is all he says, sitting on the side of the bed. 

“Not really.” I shrug. “I hadn’t done anything with him...until last night.” 

I take a short breath. I have completely fucked up any chance of Brendon and me being any sorts of friends. I wanted it so badly but I just ruined it. He wants me and I can admit that I kind of do, too. I just don’t want to. It’s not a good idea for either of us. 

“Where were you guys, anyway?” Alex asks, leaning back against the bed frame. “Jack said that Brendon wasn’t home and you were missing…” 

“Can I not talk about this? Fuck. I’ve just–fuck, fuck, fuck.” I mutter angrily, closing my eyes.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks. 

“Nah, man, I’m doing great.” I say sarcastically. “Just, you know, had drunken sex with Brendon and his fucking ex! I’m perfectly fine right now, yeah.” 

Alex looks shocked for a few seconds but then he’s back to normal. “His ex? William?” I nod. “I met him last night. Seemed like a douche.” 

“I don’t know, Brendon seems to like him.” I tell him bitterly. 

There’s a slight moment of silence and I wonder if Alex is just going to leave me to myself. It would be the preferred type of condolence right now but Alex is still sitting on the bed, looking like he’s in deep concentration. I sigh loudly more for myself instead of trying to convey to Alex how frustrating this is for me. 

“I was going to tell you last night before, uh, you left but Brendon is performing with us tonight.” he tells me. “And I don’t want you guys to ruin the show.” 

I look over to him, offended that he really cares more about the show. “I’ll try my best, Alex, really.” I say venomously, standing up from the bed and heading over to find a towel from a cupboard. “Now if you don’t mind getting out so I can take a shower, to get the fucking dried semen off of me, that would be great.” 

“Calm down, Ryan, fuck.” Alex shouts at me, heading towards the door. “You can’t expect me to have sympathy for you. You need to own up to your mistake.” 

“I was fucking drunk!”

“You still knew what you were doing, okay? Admit up to that at least.” Alex says, shaking his head in disgust. 

I watch as he walks out of the room in a hurry. Once I hear the door slam from Jack and him evidently leaving, I slam my foot into the nearest object, which just happens to be my dresser. It hurts like hell and I immediately regret kicking it. It makes me feel a little better but still so damn bitter because Alex Gaskarth is always obnoxiously right. 

 

When someone comes to fetch me for preparation for the award show, I’m still in a towel, just lying on my bed. I don’t bother answering the door right away, instead I get dressed slowly. I figure they already have an outfit planned for me, so I don’t dress very proper. An irritated man is at the door and he leads me to a car, and that leads me to an arena, and that leads me to certain chaos. 

As I’m being informed, we were supposed to all come in a week ago for outfit choices. No one was notified, so now we are rushing to get it done. My manager finally wraps up with telling us last minute fun facts about the show and then leaves Alex, Spencer, Dallon and me in the green room alone. I haven’t spoken to anyone since I’ve gotten here, minus some shakes of the heads. 

“What happened?” Spencer asks, breaking the tension that surrounds the room. “I know something’s up.” 

Alex and I don’t say anything, our arms crossed over our chest in a childish manner; signally we’re still pissed at each other. Spencer sighs and starts talking to Dallon about the show. I ignore the whole room and just lean against the couch, mentally preparing myself for the soundcheck in a little bit. They didn’t even give us a specific time, just shoved us into the room and expected us to wait. 

I sigh a little and loll my head on the couch, making note that the ceiling is, in fact, white. I think there is a basic rule of design that says you can’t paint your ceiling any other color but white. I swear, one day I’m going to own a house and make the ceilings crazy colors. I mean, if you’re going to stare at something for hours because you can’t sleep, it might as well be pleasing to the eye. 

The door of the room shudders open, creaking loudly, and in steps Brendon. He sends everyone warm smiles but stares the longest on me. I look away, feeling like throwing up.

“We gotta go to sound check.” Brendon tells us. 

I silently thank whatever God that we are preoccupied and don’t have time to talk. We all get led down several empty corridors until we reach what is the backstage area. People are buzzing all over, talking into phones and with clipboards. We don’t hang around, getting led through the maze until we’re on an amazingly large stage. There’s even a walkway that goes on for a few feet. I look around and realize how many people can be seated. Way too many. I’m just a guitarist, though. 

The lady who led us here tells us they have dancers, they’re just late. She directs us to our designated instruments, me being handed a fancy guitar from a tech. I settle the guitar on myself, tightening the strap a little and then thank the person who brought it to me. 

We test each instrument and it’s as boring as anyone could ever imagine. Brendon is sitting at the end of the walkway, his feet dangling over the side. He’s hunched over and picking at the top of a microphone, slightly swaying to music that must be just in his head. 

“Ryan,” Dallon says, having walked over to me from his side of the stage. He looks worried and therefore I am as well. “What happened with Alex and you?” 

“Nothing.” I tell him quickly. 

“Come on, man.” he pushes on. “Alex is fucking pissed about it. Kept talking about how you were going to ruin the show. I’m technically part of this show, so I feel like I should know.” 

“He said that?” I ask. 

Dallon merely shrugs, his brown hair toppling into his eyes. “Over and over again, too.”

“It’s just about Brendon and I so I’m not even sure why he’s so worked up about it.” 

“Are you angry at him too?” 

“Angry?” I question more to myself than him. “Nah. It’s really nothing.” 

Dallon gives me a questioning look but still walks away while sighing. I sigh and wait for them to tell us to do something. Brendon is still at the end of the walkway and I hope he stays there. I’m not angry at him, more ashamed at myself. As much as I hate it, Alex is right. I knew exactly what I was doing when I slept with Brendon. The thing is, the most regretful thing of last night was letting William fuck Brendon when I should have. If I’m going to make a mistake, I might as well do it right. 

When we rehearse the songs, the dancers finally arriving in slutty outfits, it goes over okay enough. They didn’t give me a microphone so I feel like I have no protection from the future mass of crowds. I play my part as good as it gets. I’m not sure how many times I’ve played Mindset. It’s our biggest song so we always sing it in every single set. It’s no coincidence they chose this song for us to perform. 

I feel like I should be more nervous, considering we’ve never played at an award show, but I’m not. Soon enough there will be hoards of loving fans and A-list celebrities filling the arena. The fans will love us regardless of how we sound and the celebrities won’t even bother caring. I don’t feel like I have that much to be nervous about. 

Brendon comes on stage dramatically when his part starts and I can already hear the screams in my head. I had to hear them for a whole tour and it’s the most natural thing to me now. The thing is though, usually when Brendon isn't there to sing his part, I do. Consequently, there are still screams because fans actually care when I sing or something. Brendon comes on stage and people cheer. He puts himself into the soundcheck even if there is no audience screaming just yet and hangs near Alex, but still sending me smiles. I avoid his face after the second time he does it. 

Before we leave the arena, someone tells us we need to be in hair and makeup at four and be ready to go on at five-seventeen. I slowly walk into the backstage area and I’m not sure who to hang around. I’m not the kind of kid who likes to do things alone and I’m used to either sticking around Brendon or Alex. I walk over to Spencer and ask the time. 

“It’s a quarter past three.” he tells me. “Wanna go out to get some food? I’m pretty sure we can leave.”   
I look around and realize that everyone else from our group has disappeared. I’m confused because I would have assumed that Brendon would be all over me. Maybe I am completely wrong and he hates me for leaving or giving him mixed signals or something.

I nod my head to Spencer and we find a sandwich shop only a block away from the venue, having to run from rabid fans. They’re all lined up at the front of the building and I guess it would have made sense to make our ‘bodyguard’ come with us. I send him a text about how there is a shit ton of kids outside of the shop. Spencer and I still order sandwiches. We sit at a table in the corner, apologizing to the owner of the shop that has to keep the fans out. 

“We should probably make this quick.” Spencer says. 

I look over the door, the closed sign now facing the glass. The fans are peering in at us and it makes me uncomfortable. “That’s for sure.” I tell him. “Next time let’s stick with catering.” 

Spencer nods, a smile on his face. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.” he says. “How is the acting?” 

“Well, I’m missing a table read to do this but I don’t think they care.” 

“Table read?” Spencer repeats, taking a large bite of his sandwich. 

“Oh,” I mutter, “it’s like when we rehearse the lines before going on set.” 

Spencer’s face looks like he kind of gets it but he doesn’t. I don’t think he has any interest in acting. “I watch the shows. You seem to do well.” He quickly adds, “And Brendon.” 

“I guess. I mean, it’s not that hard.” 

“It probably is, knowing you.” he tells me. “You’re too modest, Ross.” 

I shrug, picking at the bread of the turkey sandwich I ordered. I don’t think I’m too modest. Spencer keeps staring at me, like he’s trying to pick me apart. It makes me even more uncomfortable than the looming fans outside. He knows me perfectly and his eyes don’t pick apart my appearance, rather my thoughts and feelings. That’s scarier than those kids outside that will tell me my haircut looks good. 

“So, Alex stayed at your apartment last night?” he asks. 

I move my eyes away from him, finally giving up the idea of finishing my meal. “I guess.” I say quietly. He must be able to tell by now. Hasn’t Alex told them all so he can get money from Jack for their bet? 

“Not the type of question you answer ‘I guess’ to.” Spencer observes. 

“Well, I wasn’t exactly there with him but he did sleep at my apartment, I think.” I manage to admit to him. I guess I never really asked where Jack and Alex slept. It doesn't seem to matter anymore. I wait for Spencer to say something, but he just keeps looking at me seriously. Please stop. I decide I might as well get to what Spencer wants to talk about. “To be completely honest, Spence, I don’t even know why Alex and I are fighting.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about Alex.” he says, in that stupidly cryptic manner. “He was talking about how Brendon and you were going to ruin the show. I think he’s more worried about you two than Brendon and you are.” 

I narrow my eyes. “I heard about the bet.” 

Spencer looks surprised for a few seconds then starts laughing. “It was a joke…that kind of turned serious.” he elaborates. “So, from what I’m hearing, I get some money?” 

“You’re a dick.” I shake my head, still smiling at him. “It’s not even a regular thing.” 

“Don’t care. Jack owes me fifteen dollars.” he laughs, standing up and throwing away the remains of his meal. I follow him and then our bodyguard is waiting for us near the door. I’m not sure when he arrived but he did apparently. “Seriously, though. Talk to Brendon.” 

 

I don’t get to put to work Spencer’s advice because the second we get back, we’re taken to hair and makeup. Then we have to change, every single detail being scrutinized by aging stylists. It’s some of the most agonizing moments of the entire day, but after a while they set us free a good ten minutes before we are due on stage. Brendon finds me first, cornering me in an empty hallway while I’m on my way to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he greets, getting close to me. I only flinch a little when he puts an arm around my waist. “You know, I think we have time for a hand job.” 

I get as close to the wall as possible, trying to slip out of Brendon’s heavy grasp. He’s staring at me with those damn puppy eyes he used on that bartender last night. Unlike her, I’ve seen them before. “Brendon, we should, um, talk.” 

“Talk?” Brendon says, raising a seductive eyebrow, leaning in to kiss me. 

I scramble over a little before he manages. “Yeah, actually talk. I thought the whole ‘leaving before you wake’ thing I did this morning was a good enough hint to say it was a mistake.” 

Brendon looks unfazed. “A good mistake, though.” 

“Not exactly.” I manage. 

I watch as Brendon releases my waist and crosses the hall and leans against it. “It was worth a shot.” he whispers. It’s quiet enough to where I can hear him and even tell how hurt he sounds. “Went out with a bang, huh? My fucking ex and...us.” 

“I didn’t exactly need a recap, Bren.” I complain. I knew the facts then and sadly still do. 

“We gonna forget about this, then?” 

“Seems stupid to forget. That’s how mistakes are made again.” 

“So...we are forgetting, then?” he asks cockily, looking sufficiently better than he did a minute ago. I’m pretty sure he’s gotten good at hiding how he feels.

“No.” I respond, trying to hide the flickering smile on my lips. I turn away from him and start walking towards the stage area.

“Hey, Ry,” Brendon yells after me nervously. I turn around and see him fighting with his fingers and staring at me. “I still love you, you know.” 

I swiftly look away. No. Stop. “Okay.” I say quickly and then start walking away. 

Something awful burns in my stomach. I really wonder if Brendon did that on purpose. He used the exact same words right before he left my house when he tried to get me back so long ago. I remember thinking it was kind of degrading to hear Brendon saying it in front of all of my family. Now, it just stings in my chest and makes me wish I could get away from him faster and faster. 

If Alex thought we were going to ruin the show, he was wrong. If Brendon thought that was going to affect me, he’s also wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

Alex and I rush around my apartment, preparing for a meeting. Even if he has been a jerk to me lately, I still let him sleep at my place. We aren’t really angry at each other anymore, just not on great terms. We only talk when we have to but it seems hostile. I’m still a tad confused on why we are even fighting but I won’t be the first to give in. He was wrong, though. The show was fine. People still screamed at all the right places and still listened to us like we’re really something special. 

“Do you have a tie I could borrow?” Alex asks, fixing his belt. 

“Yeah, in my closet there’s a hanger with a few of them on it.” I inform him, staring intently at my reflection and not bothering to give him a side glance.

Alex goes off to find said hanger, and I continue putting gel into my hair. It’s just a meeting with a few people from the label. They want to talk about the upcoming CD which we haven’t even started working on and Alex mentioned something about a music video. I’m not too excited for it, but it’s better than sitting at home all day. It’s nice to do something different for a change. 

“This look okay?” I hear Alex ask my opinion. 

I turn around and he’s standing up straight, a light blue button up and dark jeans on. The tie is white and skinny, dangling off his neck. “Yup.” I tell him. 

I already opted out of the tie idea, not exactly wanting to look up online how to do it correctly. I finish fixing my hair, just pushing random strands up and screwing the lid back on the hair gel. I look around for various things like my wallet, keys, and phone while Alex waits at the door. 

“The other guys are already there.” he informs me, a little impatience wearing on his tongue. 

“Sorry, sorry.” I mumble, grabbing my phone from the charger and heading towards the door. 

There’s a taxi waiting for us and it’s a completely silent ride over. I take the time to look through my phone. I rarely look at it anymore. There are a few messages from Hayley and Mikey about why I missed two days on set. I decide not to reply; it’ll be easier to explain to them in person. Another is from Brendon a couple days ago. It’s just a simple ‘Hey’ text and I ignore that one as well. We’ve seen each other since it’s been sent. No hard feelings. The last of my messages are from Alex and they appear to be useless now. I don’t even attempt to check my email, knowing the messages are just piling up. 

Before I can do much else, the taxi stops and the driver must have been paid already because he doesn’t demand anything. We both get out, thanking him for the ride. I stuff my phone in my pocket and we get directed to the floor with the conference rooms. While we’re walking towards it, I can see everything that’s going on. The walls are glass and don’t seem sufficient for blocking out unwanted eyes. There’s a long table and it’s filled with important looking people in suits. I wonder if I’m underdressed. I doubt they would mind. Spencer and Dallon are already seated and talking animatedly to the business men.

“Sorry we’re late.” Alex and I apologize in unison. 

“No worries,” one of the older men says and moves his head towards two empty seats next to Spencer and Dallon. They don’t all look pissed we’re late, so that’s a good sign. We do these small introductions and I can almost guarantee I won’t remember any of their names. “We were just talking about the music video. We want to shoot it here.” 

“Which song?” Alex asks before I can do the same. 

“Flight Champagne.” Spencer fills. 

“We’re thinking about panoramic shots of the city, maybe even create an older effect and–” 

Before the guy can even elaborate further on the idea, my phone goes off. The ringtone is embarrassingly loud and girly sounding. I get it out of my pocket, not bothering checking the caller ID before I ignore the call. I turn it to vibrate and set it back on my lap, apologizing quietly. Great start. 

“Like I was saying, we want to create an older affect. We could get a sound stage, maybe do a bar scene or something. Dallon, what were you saying about that?” 

“I think it would be–” 

My phone goes off again, the vibrations just as prevalent as the ringtone itself. People look at me again, their eyes shining with distaste. “It must be important. How about you take the call?” a man tells me. 

I look down at the caller ID and debate if it’s actually important. It’s my mom’s name that flashes on my screen and I suddenly become nervous. She rarely calls me and if I don’t answer she usually leaves a message. 

“Okay, uh, thanks, sorry–I’ll just…” I stammer, heading towards the door, and I answer the phone once the glass door is firmly shut behind me. “Hello?” 

“Ryan?” my mom’s voice questions. There’s something about how she says my name that makes me even more nervous. 

“Sorry, I was in a meeting. Uh, what’s up?” I ask, heading away from the room slightly. 

“Ryan, Hun, I have bad news.” she says, sounding torn up about just having to tell me. “Last night...your father passed away.” 

I stop walking, halting any major bodily functions. I just stand in the hallway, my breath suddenly gone from my lungs. My hands start fidgeting without my consent and I can finally breathe again, the air tasting sour. “No…” is all I can say to my mom who just lost her ex-husband; it’s all I can say to myself who just lost a father. 

“I’m so sorry, Ryan.” she says, sounding like she’s trying not to break down on the phone. I can only hear the tears that are undeniably on her face right now. “They say it’s natural causes.” 

“Fuck.” I mutter, knowing that my mom hates it when I curse. The word just fumbles out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s all I can think. 

“Do you want me to fly out...I can see you and–”

“No.” I say quickly. “No, I’m fine, Mom. I’m just at a meeting right now...so, um, I’m gonna go back to that.” 

“Okay.” she says sounding disappointed. I’m not sure why. “Ryan, I love you, okay? Call me back as soon as possible.” 

“Love you, too, Mom.” I choke out, hanging up the phone before she can say anything back to me and before I can make stale promises. 

I stand in the empty, too white hallway by myself. I can still see into the meeting room and suddenly it’s the last place in the world I want to go. I lean against the wall, feeling completely lost and numb. It’s like I just walked and walked and I no longer know where I am anymore. I’m lost in my own body. I still know exactly where I am, though. I’m in Chicago and I am supposed to be in a meeting with my band mates. 

I drag my body towards the room, entering quietly. I put my hands in my pockets. They’re shaking and I have no idea why. I sit in my seat and everyone is looking at me. I try to pretend they aren’t. No one asks who it was or what it was about, they just seem to be hiding their annoyance towards me. 

I try to breathe quieter because every time I drag a breath it’s rough and shaky. I think of anything but my own dad. I try to think about the meeting, I really do. I try to add insightful ideas, but my words don’t make it out of my mouth. I just sit there and stare at the knots in the wood table. Fuck. 

“Are you okay?” Alex is the first one to ask. The first one to care. When I look up to him, he looks genuinely worried and it only worsens when he sees my whole face. 

I’m no martyr. 

“Kind of,” I look up to the faces of the men that most likely work here. “Where is the bathroom?” 

They tell me it’s just a few doors down and I stand up, trying not to make a deal with my shaking hands as I exit. I rush towards the bathroom. It’s thankfully empty and I lock myself in the first stall, instantly throwing up the contents of my stomach into the porcelain toilet. My eyes water slightly, my mouth tasting sour. I swallow uneasily and wish I had water. 

“Fuck.” I whisper, after I think the worse has passed. 

I lean on the dirty floor, trying to get the strength to stand back up. I need to go back to the meeting. I’m being so goddamn unprofessional. 

I’m being a disappointment. 

With that thought, I dry heave. There’s nothing left in my stomach to get rid of. I would easily trade up some thoughts in my head. They seem just as bitter as the taste in my mouth. As disgusting as it seems, I lean my head on the toilet bowl. I try to breathe properly. I’m pathetic. I’m just on the ground of a fucking bathroom while I’m supposed to be someplace else. 

I have to force my limbs into action, my whole body moving off from the floor and into a standing position. I lean against the wall, my vision slightly altered for a second. When I open my eyes again, it’s all clear. I flush the toilet and wash my hands. I wipe off the cold sweat that has accumulated onto my face with the back of my dress shirt sleeve, the buttons brushing my cheek. I attempt to make a bowl with my hands to catch water under to drink, but it all falls through the cracks in my unsteady fingers. I try not to think about it as some comparison to my life. I pointedly ignore the mirror in front of me. If I look it will only make me feel worse. I’ll have to stare at the disappointment I have turned out to be. 

It’s too short of a journey back to the meeting room. My hands have stopped shaking so much but now I’m dying for more water. Water would be great right now. I enter the room again and before I can sit down I notice Alex is staring at me, his face edging with even more worry. 

“You should go home.” he says, interrupting the people who are still scheming the music video. 

“I’m...alright.” I try to convince the room and myself. 

“You just threw up.” Alex says firmly, like there is no way I was doing anything else in the bathroom. He’s seen me vomit before, though. 

“I’m fine now.” 

“Maybe Alex is right.” a man says, checking my face out. I look down, not wanting to be scrutinized. “We’ll call a car.” 

“No, no I’m okay.” I say, waving my hand nervously. Sadly, this wasn’t the best idea because my hand shaking is still easy to see and the man keeps calling for a car. 

They all tell me to feel better but don’t ask why. They all send me outside for a car, a short lady leading me out. She doesn’t look very worried, either. She just leads me there because that’s what she is getting paid for. It’s an extremely short ride and I’m not sure how one second I’m staring at the building I just came out of, and then the building I live in. 

I’m not even sure how I manage to make it to my floor and how I open my door but it all happens so fast. I head for my bathroom first, brushing my teeth clean. I almost try to throw up again, but I force myself to ignore it. I’m fine. I already said it out loud. It’s true and honest. 

When I’m getting water from my fridge door, I hear it. Brendon’s strong voice flows through my kitchen. At first I don’t even register the words, just listen to every syllable and the melody. I realize he’s singing one of my band’s songs. It’s one that I wrote both guitar parts one night while I was bored. When I take a look at my guitar in the corner of the living room I feel even more sick.

I’m not sure why but I feel myself walking out my door, leaving my phone on the counter. I knock quietly on the door, sort of hoping he won’t answer and I can pretend I’m not doing this. He does though, his singing stopping. I hear footsteps and then the door is open. I haven’t seen him since after the award show. We edged around each other the whole night after Brendon said he still loved me. Looking at him now, I think he was being completely honest. 

Brendon looks great. He’s got on a comfortable looking sweatshirt and sweats. His hair looks slightly wet, like he just got out of the shower. His face looks confused and worried for my sake. I don’t like it. My eyes just roam his face and I wish I could find something to say. Anything. I just hate feeling so lost all of a sudden. We stand silently until he makes the first move. He puts his arms around me and gives me a hug. A hug. Brendon gives hugs. He doesn’t bother with words when he knows that hugs will fix everything. Well, maybe not everything, but enough for now.

We do just that for a few minutes, it feels like. The door is still wide open but we both don’t appear to care. Brendon’s fingers are warm on my back, giving me a false sense of protection from the world. I close my eyes and burrow them into the crook of his neck, smelling the fabric of the sweatshirt. Distractions. 

Still, though, all of my problems seem to explode into my mind. The fact that I still feel like an outsider when I go to set and I don’t talk to people I don’t know. Or how my whole family hates me because I don’t fucking like girls. Or how I never even fixed things with Gabe and how I essentially lose every friend I ever get. I even think back to Pete and remember how at one point we were friends until he went and burnt down my whole world. I think of my dad and how we never figured anything out. I remember times when I never thought I could hate the man. Most importantly, though, I think of Brendon. This whole mess that I’ve gotten him into. Everything. 

It just fucking hurts and it feels like there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. 

“I’m so sorry.” I mutter to him, truly meaning it but not letting go of him at all. 

“Why?” he asks lightly, also not moving from our hug. 

“I’m giving you these fucking mixed feelings.” I tell him.

Brendon sighs. It’s not an irritated sigh, more along the lines of just sad. “Ryan, I didn’t hug you in the hopes you would hug back.” he tells me. “You just looked like you really needed this.” 

“I did.” 

I don’t cry. 

I’m the first to break from the hug, feeling like my internal timer has gone off of time I can hug him without feeling too content. I watch as Brendon shuts the door and drags me to the couch. His hand is warm in mine but doesn’t exactly stop the shaking. I just want it to stop but my body has other plans. We sit in silence and Brendon doesn’t let go of my hand. 

“My dad died.” I supply him, the words not processing for me yet. “My mom called me during a meeting and I just fucking left. Like, fuck, they are going to think I’m so unprofessional and I’m a disappointment because they wanted to talk to Ryan Ross, a quarter of July–” 

“You’re not a disappointment.” Brendon says, suddenly talking again. “I’m sorry, Ryan. Please don’t worry about them, okay? You’re so perfect. You lost your dad. I mean...holy fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“On the car ride home,” I start, not sure if I even want to tell anyone this. Brendon is Brendon, though. I can always tell him anything no matter what. Right? “I was thinking about the last time I saw him. The last thing we did before he left. We played guitar. I think...I think he knew he was going to go soon. I think he wanted to play one last time with me and write one last song.” 

Brendon doesn't say anything, just pulls me in for another hug. I don’t bother wrapping my own arms around him this time. I feel pathetic as he rubs circles into my back and tells me it’s okay. I’m not crying, though. I’m not even sad. I’m just bitter. 

“I didn’t get to fix anything with him.” I confess. “We never even talked about everything that’s happened to me. We just wrote a song. I haven’t even played it since he left. Fuck, I’m not even sure if I remember the chords. I don’t–I don’t remember the frets or the strum patterns or anything.” 

Brendon pulls out of our hug and looks at me seriously. “Do you want my guitar?” 

“No, no, no, no.” I repeat on and on. “Would you mind if I stayed here for a while, though?” 

Brendon shakes his head. “I, um, I have ice cream and we could watch movies and, yeah, you should stay, Ry.” 

Even if I feel like everything has collapsed and I’m numb, I still give Brendon a small smile. I pull him in for another hopefully long hug and everything seems to go away for just a few seconds.


	16. Chapter 16

The DVD menu on the screen is showering the room with light and a soft melody. I’ve been staring at it for the last hour or so. The song that plays isn’t that long, maybe less than a minute and not very intricate. I just keep listening to it, though. Brendon fell asleep before the movie even finished. He’s leaning on me and I can feel his breath on my shoulder. It’s a little reassuring. I still know I need to leave, though. 

I look down and see how our hands are intertwined, my fingers snaking through his. I don’t think Brendon was trying to make it a symbol of a hopeful relationship; I think he held my hand because he was comforting me. It’s friendship. I didn’t bother asking Brendon about it, thinking that he might stop. Before we even turned on the movie, we talked. On and on for at least an hour. It was nice. We barely even spoke about my father. It was just about life and the future. We did manage to get the movie on, though.

Brendon brought out the promised ice cream and I only ate a little of mine, still feeling slightly sick.   
The melody on the DVD menu restarts yet again and I sigh heavily. Brendon moves a little, grunting nonsense in his sleep. His grip on my hand tightens vaguely then goes back to how it was before. I feel slightly guilty as I move him in his sleep, yet again this week, and stand up from the couch. This time is different from when I left a couple days ago, though. This time, I’m trying to keep him from waking up because I care and not because I’m worried about getting caught. 

I find a loose sheet of paper and a pen on his cluttered table and leave him a note saying I went back to my place and didn’t want to wake him. I want to thank him for the night, but I don’t think the simple ‘thanks’ at the end of the note is enough. I’ll make it up to him somehow. I put the letter on the coffee table next to the couch, glancing at Brendon one last time and shutting the TV off so he won’t have to listen to the DVD menu song while he’s sleeping. 

I head over to my apartment, unlocking the door quietly. Alex is asleep on the couch when I turn on the kitchen light. On the oven it says it’s two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like it is. I grab my guitar from the side of the room and turn off the lights. I walk in the dark, nearly running into every piece of furniture on my way to my room. I close the door and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. The guitar strings feel heavy on my nimble fingers when I set them on the second and third frets. I don’t bother finding a pick and instead use my thumb so it’s softer. Before I can even talk myself out of it, my fingers find the right chords and patterns to play the first part of the song I wrote with my dad. 

It’s a slower song so I don’t have to rush to find the chord’s proper positions. I know I told Brendon I forgot it all but suddenly it’s still here. Instead of feeling nauseous, I feel plain sadness. I get that trademark stinging in my chest and for some reason it runs through my fingers, as if my body is screaming at me to stop. I play up to the part where we never finished, feeling a little lost from that point. I do it again and hate how when I reach the end, I can feel the tears stemming in my eyes.   
I need to finish this. 

I find the lyrics I wrote still saved into my phone and sing them as quietly as I manage, strumming along. I slowly add onto the song. The chords are basically the same for the beginning but then I write the guitar riffs, mimicking some of the stuff my dad already started. I’m not even sure how much time passes but the room starts to light up from the natural sunlight streaming in through the window. I finish the song, recording both guitar parts on my phone. Now I’m just playing them over and over again. 

There’s a timid knock on my door and before I can even decide if I want guests, Alex walks in. He takes in my appearance as I take in his. I just hope he doesn’t notice that my eyes look red from my quiet tears. He’s got on loose boxers and an old looking T-shirt that has a few holes on the scoop of the neck. He looks like he just got up, his hair in wild places on his head. 

“Did you just get back?” Alex asks. I simply shake my head, not feeling like elaborating. “So, uh, what happened yesterday then?” 

I abruptly stop strumming the guitar. I tighten my jaw, not wanting to answer. “My dad died.” I blurt out, trying to block the words from my thoughts. 

“Jesus. Why didn’t you tell us?” Alex says stunned, joining me on the side of the bed. He puts an arm around me but I shrug it off. 

I ignore his question. “Did they say anything about me?” 

“Who?”

“The people at that meeting.” I explain. “Did they...did they think I was a disappointment?” 

“No, but why does that matter, Ry?” 

I shrug, finally putting my guitar on the bed. I pick at the rough calluses on my fingers that have indents from playing and wait for Alex to either leave or ask me another question I don’t feel like answering. He doesn’t do either two things. Instead, he leans over and takes my guitar I’ve been playing for multiple hours. He holds out his hand, silently asking for the pick. I give it to him, a little confused. He starts playing an older song that I instantly feel my fingers curl to the imaginary strings. 

Alex starts singing the part and I know all the words by heart. It’s not because it’s my song and I’ve played enough to know, it’s because they are my favorite lyrics and song in general. I rest my head on his shoulder, knowing that he won’t mind because I’ve somehow managed to close my eyes, tapping the beat on my knee. The song finishes much too quickly and I kind of hope he keeps strumming and just plays it again. He doesn’t. 

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asks me in a soft voice.

“Not any at all.” I confess, hoping that he doesn’t slaughter me. 

“We’re going to try to do the whole music video shoot today. They only need us for a few scenes.” he explains, putting the guitar to the side. “Spencer, Dallon, and I are leaving tonight. Probably right when we finish.”

“Okay.” I mutter, picking my head up from his shoulder, instantly missing the mutual body heat.

Alex stares at me for a few seconds, looking kind of annoyed like I’m not acting the way he expects of me. I go back to picking at the skin of my fingers. Alex sighs and then stands up from the bed. He mutters something about me feeling better and how he’s going to use the shower. Once he leaves my room, closing the door quietly, I fall back into my bed. I’m extremely tired but my brain refuses to shut up. Before I can even try my hardest on the thought of sleep, Alex knocks on the door loudly. 

“You better not be sleeping!” he shouts. “We have to be there in an hour.” 

 

I lean against the wall, trying to keep my eyes open. From where I’m sitting I can see Brendon and William on set. There is a large camera pointed at William, and Brendon keeps making funny faces. He’s trying to make William slip up and laugh and he’s unsuccessful with his goofy smiles. As much as I dislike William, I know for a fact that he’s a damn good actor. 

I think we’re all ignoring the fact that I watched William fuck Brendon. 

I have one last scene to redo before I can finally go home. I spent all morning on the set of the music video getting treated like a two year old. I didn’t tell anyone about my dad but apparently Alex did. I kept getting these small hugs and sad eyes full of pity and it was exactly what I didn’t want. Now, I’m stuck here retouching scenes that weren’t exactly what the director wanted. 

“Ryan!” Mason yells. I blink a few times and realize that is my name. “Ryan, get up there.” 

I stand up, mentally recapping the lines I have to say. I stand behind a fake door and wait for my cue to knock. It’s a small scene where I’m supposed to be happy. It’s a tad difficult considering I’m not in the cheeriest moods but this is my job. I stand up straighter, putting on my acting face and do the scene to my best abilities. 

Once we finish, I head to the wardrobe department, planning on changing out of Cameron’s elaborate clothing choices. Brendon trails behind me, humming a song I don’t know. He’s been bugging me all day, poking at my side and asking if I’m feeling better. He seems to have stopped. 

I change out of my clothes quickly, dumping them in a pile where the stylist tells me to put them. I wait for Brendon, us usually taking the same taxi home. He takes off his pants in the middle of the room, not bothering to go into the changing rooms. I advert my eyes, not wanting to seem intrusive or anything. 

“Hey, do we need this shirt again?” Brendon asks the stylist. 

She rolls her eyes. “Go ahead, Honey.” 

I swear, he must own at least half of Emmet’s wardrobe. Brendon smiles brightly and thanks her, keeping the shirt on and pulling on a leather jacket. He looks over to me, popping his collar ridiculously. I give him a small smile that he doesn’t appear to appreciate. We say goodbye to the remaining people on set and before we leave Brendon claims he forgot something. I wait patiently for him to come back, breathing in the Chicago air. It’s cooling down way too much for my liking. I need a jacket now. 

“Surprise!” Brendon says happily, coming up right next to me. 

I eye the box he’s holding. “Is that a picnic basket?” I ask him, a flicker of a smile on my lips. 

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking, ‘wow, Brendon, that’s kind of romantic’ but I used have picnics with my sisters all the time, so…” 

“No wonder you’re so girly.” I tell him. “Did you make tea for your sisters, too? Let them dress you up?” 

“Not a big fan of tea.” Brendon shakes his head. “And only a few times. Now come on.” 

I follow Brendon until he gets a cab and then we take a short drive to a small park-like area. There are only a few people around but I still get nervous. Even if Brendon claims this is a nonromantic trip, the magazine articles won’t print that. I still risk all the terrifying headlines and follow Brendon to an empty patch of grass. He places down a bed sheet and I smile at him, amazed he remembered that. 

“If I’m gonna have a picnic, I’m gonna do it right.” Brendon tells me, putting the picnic basket in the center of the sheet. We both sit down and he opens the basket, taking out the contents. “I made them this morning. Hayley helped me hide them from you.” 

“Seems like elaborate measures just for me.” I tell him, taking his offered sandwich. 

“I know, but you’ve kinda had a shitty week and you’re Ryan Ross, you deserve lavish picnic meals with Brendon Urie.” 

I just nod and give him a goofy laugh that still sounds uneasy to my ears. I bite into the unwrapped sandwich realizing that it’s turkey, my favorite. Brendon also brought along Poptarts, which is a strange mix, but I don’t mind. I kind of wonder how he knew how much I love those two things. 

“So, you’re stealing most of Emmets wardrobe, I see.” I say conversationally, nodding my head towards Brendon’s new dress shirt. 

Brendon laughs a little, looking down at his own shirt. “The thing is,” he tells me. “all of my own clothes look like shit next to his. Emmet has style.” 

“You have style.” I comment. 

“Sure, sure.” he laughs, obviously not believing me completely. “So, um, you going back home for a while...or?” 

“No.” I say quickly. 

“Why not? Isn’t there going to be a funeral?” he asks. I suddenly freeze up. Fuck. A funeral. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Okay, don’t let me talk.” 

“It’s fine…” 

“No, hey, I’m sorry.” he keeps apologizing, offering me a fudge Poptart as compensation. I look down at my sandwich, which I’ve only eaten a few bites out of. I still feel completely sick. 

“No thanks, Brendon.” I decline his offer. “I don’t mind, though. I’m not really sure when the funeral is. My mom told me to call her back but I haven’t yet. Kind of scared to.” 

I feel small, forcing myself to finish the sandwich Brendon made for me. I’m not hungry whatsoever but I can’t manage to let Brendon down. Brendon sloppily eats his sandwich, watching the people in the distance. He’s always nodding his head to some random tempo and tapping his fingers. The kid practically breathes music, yet he’s acting. 

“This is gonna end soon then, huh?” I say, looking tiredly to Brendon. 

He looks back at me. His eyebrows scrunch together and he has a look of general fear on his face. “I guess.” he mutters to me. “I’m kind of worried about what’s next. Like, after we stopped talking I wrote a bunch of songs at such a quick pace and then we recorded them. I went back to Chicago to do the whole acting thing. As much as I don’t think you want to hear it, I really didn’t want to go back to music.” 

“I don’t think you can run away from the music, Bren.” I tell him, feeling certain. 

Brendon just smiles at me, pushing hair out of his eyes sweetly. “I don’t think I can, no. We just came here and I’ve been playing a lot of guitar and singing and I’ve come up with a ton of songs. They’re all acoustic but I’m sure the guys will be happy with them. I told Josh about how I wasn’t sure about continuing and, God, he looked so torn up about it. I’m a little scared to see what’s next, whether that’s me working on music, or getting another acting job.” 

“You’re kinda perfect at both.” I tell him jealously. 

“Nonsense.” he waves his hand dismissively and pushes the basket away, lying down on the sheet. I mimic him, maybe lying a little too close to him. He’s warm and doesn’t appear to mind my closeness. I look up into a starless night sky and just think. “I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking about how all of this has happened. Like, when I had to beg my parents to just let me get signed and make an album and go on tour. They...they were just so disappointed.” I wince a little, kind of hating the word ‘disappointed’. “I’m the youngest so they’ve always treated me like their little baby and I think it was unbearable for them to see me leave to do music. They wanted me to get a wife and do something in the church.” 

“You’d probably be a shitty youth leader.” I say, imaging him in loose jeans and balding hair as he teaches a ton of kids about God, only to come home to a wife he might just hate. “The whole musician route was a good idea for you.” 

“I honestly can’t imagine staying with my religion and doing what my parents wanted of me. They’ve got Dan, they should be happy. I’m just– I always felt so bad about leaving them and what they expected of me. Now, I honestly don’t care because if I was doing something else I don’t think I’d be this happy.” he looks over to me with a grin on his face. “And I wouldn’t know you so I guess that turned out well.” 

After Brendon and I talked the night I learned about my dad’s death, I’ve felt immensely closer to him. I don’t feel like I have to censor my words around him. I can tell him almost everything that runs through my mind. 

“Brendon, why are you always…” I pause, trying to reconnect what I was planning to ask. I can’t find a great way to word it. I restart. “Why are you so good to me?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, when I came over a couple nights ago I was a fucking mess and you just helped. And now you’re taking me on picnics and trying really hard to make me happy. I just don’t know why you care so much.” 

Brendon makes a straight line with his mouth. “‘Cause I care about you, Ry.” he says cautiously. “Even if you don’t want us to be in a relationship, it’s a little difficult for me to just stop caring.” 

A long silence ensues. It’s a little heartbreaking and I force my tongue to not utter words I’m so unsure of right now. I jam the words to the back of my throat and practically choke on them as they fall uncomfortably into my stomach. I decided I just need to talk about anything but what I want to. “Do you think we’re just…completely messed up because we got famous so young?” 

“Maybe.” Brendon says, a thoughtful look going over his face. “My parents used to argue about that all the time. They’d say I was too young to fly to Australia and play shows or I wasn’t old enough to be taking shots with bands they liked. Maybe I was. They’d always tell me that I was someone totally different than ‘their Brendon’ and I felt like shit about it. I never even knew what I did wrong.” 

“When I came back for the rest of junior year, right when the tour ended, Pete would say things like that. He hissed about how the fame changed me. I don’t even know if it did, but if I really changed then I don’t remember it.” 

“I wouldn’t listen to Pete, but um, I guess we might’ve changed a little. It’s only because we kind of have to. I’m not trying to sound like some pretentious asshole or anything, but they don’t deal with the shit we do.” 

Brendon doesn’t have to give me examples because I know. I think about all the times I’ve played the caption game when photographers mob me. I think about how the press somehow learns about everything that happens to me. I think about how I’m barely home and always busy doing something. I think about how I’m always being bombarded with insults and slander. I think about my life and suddenly I realize I’m nothing like Pete or the kids that used to push me around in high school. They might become prissy doctors or work at a gas station, but they’ll never have this. My life. 

“It’s a good thing we’re both messed up together.” I mutter.

Brendon just hums in agreement and it sounds broken and lonely. It rolls through my ears and stings at my heart. Our shoulders are touching and there is something that envelopes my thoughts and it gets sent elsewhere. It amazes me how still we are and how we are one in a fucked up sense. It makes me want to get sick and cry all at once. It just sucks wanting something but knowing it’s bad for you. Somehow Brendon has turned into this drug that I know if I take I’ll only get addicted to and then end up overdosing on it. I know because it’s already happened. 

Apprehensively and perhaps a bit impulsively, I grab for Brendon’s hand and clutch it tightly. “You keep doing these things that make me wonder why I put up a wall between us.” 

I watch as Brendon’s eyes light up with childish glee. For a few brief seconds, I feel better about everything. That look he just gave me was worth ever opening my reckless mouth. I feel him squeeze my hand, maybe at a loss of words. I kind of doubt it, though. I stare at him, feeling myself start to rethink everything. Brendon just smiles shyly and his eyes flicker over my whole face. 

“Hey Bren?” I start, getting kind of nervous. Brendon picks up his head a little, full attention on me. “Can I kiss you?” 

Instead of answering, Brendon snuggles closer to me and kisses my cheek softly. I feel my lips curl up into a smile the second he does it. I waste no time taking in his silent answer and kiss him on the lips. He doesn’t taste of cigarettes anymore and I wonder if he stopped because I haven’t seen him with one recently. Brendon parts his lips slightly and I take it as an invitation to nip at his bottom lip. We move apart a little and we both have matching wide smiles on. 

“This probably isn’t the smartest thing for us to do in public.” he mentions, sounding saddened. 

“Didn’t exactly work out for us last time.” I say, slightly wishing we weren’t in public all of sudden. 

Technically, there are only a few people still here, not really taking notice of Brendon and me. It’s almost completely dark by now, too. Brendon and I get up, exchanging hopeful glances and then pick up the picnic mess. We catch a cab back home and it’s a short ride where I keep sneaking glances at Brendon. I have a feeling he’s doing the same thing as me. When we’re about to part to our own apartments, Brendon touches my shoulder and I turn back around. 

“I’m gonna break down that wall.” he tells me, looking extremely determined. 

I just stare at him, amazed at how determined the kid can be. I still see this sadness that he always carries around with him. I don’t want to be selfish but I will always assume it’s because of me; that maybe Brendon is missing his final piece. I can feel all these terrible pent up feelings surge through me as we stare at each other. I think he’s picking me apart, but I can’t say much because I’m doing the same. 

I take a few tentative steps towards him and try not to look nervous. This is all out of impulse. That’s the only solution. I feel myself walk over this imaginary line of distance between Brendon and me, placing my hand in his hair and stepping close enough to where I can feel his breath. “There’s no wall.” I whisper to him. 

“I probably wouldn't have been able to break it down.” he confesses. 

“So this is…” 

“Yes.” 

Brendon doesn’t waste any time, pulling me into a kiss. It feels like home. Everything is so natural with us and it scares me. He lays his fragile fingers on my waist, as if he’s claiming me forever and I don’t move away from it. I try to get even closer to him because it seems like we’ve messed up our connections. I miss knowing everything about him. I feel us break away and Brendon visibly swallows, looking amazed. I honestly don’t understand how that works. 

“Are you going to leave?” Brendon asks, his breath mixing with mine. 

“Where?”

Brendon smiles, as if it’s some inside joke and starts kissing me again. I’m not even sure what exactly he was talking about. Leaving him now? Leaving him halfway? Leaving this? I can’t bring myself to put too much thought into it. Instead, I close my eyes and fall into whatever Brendon and I have here. It’s complicated, but when has anything in my life been anything but? I miss Brendon and I miss the past. All I really want to do is go someplace in time where I’m not. 

“Ryan.” Brendon breathes out, looking utterly confused. “I…” 

I look towards his apartment door, maybe expecting too much from him. “Me neither.” 

Brendon grabs for my hand, our fingers slipping through each other’s. I don’t think we’ve ever held our hands clasped together. No, Brendon and I just want to feel together and our fingers always find a way to entwine. I let him lead me into his apartment and straight to his bedroom. This doesn’t feel anything like when I was with Brendon and William. This time it doesn't feel so fast. Instead, Brendon and I walk calmly to his bed and stare at each other for an elongated pause before our lips find one another again. 

It’s not too long before Brendon is pushing me down into his bed, a gentle nudge, but good enough. I instantly put my hand back in his hair because it feels the most safe there. It’s like we’re both stuck together and there is no escaping this circling we’ve created. I lay on top of Brendon, mainly hoping that I’m not crushing him. We kiss more furiously, his tongue making its way into my mouth. I tighten my grip in his hair and wait for him to make moves to remove clothes because this could last forever and I wouldn’t mind. 

After a while, Brendon seems even more restless than he usually is. I play with the hem of his shirt, hoping maybe he will give me acceptance somehow. He simply places his fingers over mine and helps me pull off his shirt. I’m quick to feel his skin, my fingers slowly dragging down his chest. He doesn’t seem to mind, closing his eyes to the touch. I swiftly take off my shirt and move closer to him and our chests touch. It reminds me of the few nights we’ve slept next to each other. I close my eyes and kiss him more. My hand slowly finds the top of his pants and I undo the button. My fingers seem to feel completely at ease as they pull down the zipper. Brendon groans into our kiss when I slip my hand into his boxers. I move my hand around. It’s at an uncomfortable angle but Brendon appears to be enjoying it nonetheless. I slide my thumb over his slit and he shudders a little. 

“Why are my pants still on?” Brendon jokes, already tugging down his pants and boxers. 

I help him, Brendon sighing when my hands find his half-hard cock. He licks his lips, closing his eyes and knitting his eyebrows in concentration. I place my idle hand on his left hip bone. The way that it juts out worries me. I can easily mold my hand around it, creating an anchor of sorts. Brendon must break out of his pleasure-induced haze because he’s suddenly moving his hand towards my pants. He palms me through my jeans roughly and it only leads me to letting out an embarrassingly desperate noise. 

“Brendon...what if,” I choke out, rutting underneath his touch. “what if you fucked me?” 

“God–yes!” he shudders out. 

We both lean into each other’s hands before breaking apart. Brendon rolls over and searches through his nightstand for lube. When he moves back over to me, he looks victorious with his little bottle and a condom wrapper. I smile at his obvious excitement. Before he can even open the bottle, I pull him in for a kiss. God, it’s just that he...he’s just–

“Ryan, stop taunting me.” he says when he pulls away. 

I help him with getting off my belt and removing my pants. I don’t feel embarrassingly bare in front of him when he takes off my boxers this time. It amazes me how I actually feel comfortable in my own skin as he glides his fingers over it. 

“You’re beautiful.” Brendon whispers and it’s the most cliché thing to say at the moment, but it feels too heartfelt to ignore. 

I pull him in for another kiss and I don’t really want to stop. I think part of it is the fact that I’m nervous. I’m not good at doing things I’ve never done before. Letting Brendon fuck me is something I’ve never done before. Brendon pulls away and his eyes are shining with this happiness I haven’t seen in a while. I watch as he squeezes out lube onto his hands. My chest tightens and I almost tell Brendon that maybe this isn’t a good idea. 

“Hey, Ry, it’s okay.” he says suddenly, obviously being able to tell my worries. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s...okay. I’m just nervous.” I mumble, feeling more exposed than ever. 

Brendon gets closer to me, practically lying on my body. “People wouldn’t do it if it didn’t feel good.” he says with a smirk. 

I smile back lightly and nod my head timidly. Brendon’s smile gets bigger and he opens the bottle of lube. I try to keep an even face as he pours some out into his hand. I look away. Breathe in. Breathe out. Brendon moves up a little and starts kissing me. It’s effortless the way we can just do that. It worries me. I feel Brendon’s fingers prodding at my hole, the cool liquid feeling new on my skin. The feeling of one finger in me feels like it did last time: not that big of a deal. Brendon doesn’t waste much time with just one finger, inserting a second one right away. 

Brendon’s lips are still on mine, just a little sloppy, obviously preoccupied with what his fingers are doing. He moves back a little, his hot breath mixing with mine. We both look at each other for a few seconds before Brendon starts licking at the skin on my neck, his fingers still working me open. I flinch a little when he pushes in a third finger. Brendon automatically stops and looks up worried. 

“I’m...fine.” I whine, fidgeting so that Brendon will just fucking move.

He does, his fingers instantly finding my prostate. I get little flashbacks to when Brendon did this to me for the first when we were with William. I try to shake the memories away as quick as they come because I don’t want to think about William or about how I left Brendon in the morning, or even how I’ll probably do it again to him tomorrow morning. I just loll my head back and let out a groan. I don’t know why, but suddenly three fingers aren’t enough. 

“Bren,” I whine, my fingers turning into claws on his shoulder. 

He must understand my unsaid plea because he’s slowly taking his fingers out of me and ripping open the condom wrapper. Trying to occupy myself while Brendon takes for-fucking-ever to open the wrapper, I wrap my hand around my dick and slowly move it up and down. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of what must be Brendon putting the condom on himself and getting more lube out. 

“Ready?” Brendon asks in a soft voice. 

I open my eyes to see his brown eyes looking at me. I nod and remove my hand from my cock. Brendon pushes in slowly and I let out a choked noise. 

“Fuck.” I say thorough gritted teeth as he goes forward and stops. “Brendon, holy shit, you have to move.” 

“Yeah...okay.” he breathes out.

Brendon finally decides to move and I feel completely full before Brendon pulls out a little. He picks up a slow pace and I don’t really feel any pleasure from this. Brendon obviously does with his face contorted in pleasure. His eyebrows are knitted together, a light sheen of sweat resting on his forehead. He looks beautiful like this. Always does. I shudder a little when Brendon moves about a little and he hits my prostate dead on. My fingers find their way to his hair and pull on his shaggy, brown strands. Brendon lets out a moan, obviously appreciating my fingers. He goes back to leaving a hickey on my neck, his thrust becoming more and more frantic. I can feel his fingers on my hips and the possibility that they could be leaving bruises turns me on even more. 

I unravel my hand from Brendon’s hair and find my cock again. It’s leaking pre-come and painfully hard. I rapidly move my hand, flicking my wrist because I don’t even want to draw this orgasm out. Brendon seems to be getting closer with how erratic his thrusts are. I feel my toes curl before I actually come, my whole body filled with pleasure. I squeeze my eyes shut and the hand that’s still resting on Brendon’s shoulder digs nails into his skin. I let out an embarrassingly loud moan and then Brendon slows down and lets out an equally loud groan. We both recover for a few seconds, our heavy breathing mixed with the sounds of the cars outside. 

Brendon is the first to move, rolling over and taking off the condom. I close my eyes, audibly swallowing and rest my head on the pillow beneath me. I feel Brendon grab for my hand and I don’t reject to the hand-holding. 

“It’s not...It’s not just because of the sex and I’m not expecting you to say it back, but I really love you, Ryan.” Brendon whisper to me and only me. 

I give his hand a squeeze. “I love you too, Brendon.” I finally admit out loud. 

And suddenly, nothing makes sense.


	17. Chapter 17

After a week and a half of not calling my mom back, she takes the matters into her own hands. I’m lying motionless on my bed, ten feet deep in thoughts that seem to haunt me. My ringtone goes off, loud and a tad ear-piercing at the moment. I struggle up and check the caller ID before making the regretful decision of answering. 

“Hello.” I say, trying to sound in a better mood than I’m actually in. 

For the last week I’ve been keeping myself hostage in my apartment. I only leave to go to set and everyone there is still pitying me. I never even meant for all of the cast to know about my father’s death. I just told Hayley about it and then whenever I would snap at someone she would explain to them what’s going on with me. Brendon and I are skirting around each other for obvious reasons. Like expected, I left him in the morning after we had sex. It was probably expected from the both of us. I’ve seen Brendon a few times since but only briefly. He doesn’t seem too angry, just disappointed in me. I think I am, too. He even tried to confront me about it but I brushed him off because I honestly don’t feel like I’m in the right state to deal with that mess. 

Needless to say, I feel guilty about what I’ve created. 

“Hey, Hun.” my mom says and her term of endearment seems bitter. “You never called me back.” 

“Sorry…” I fish through my head for some kind of valid excuse. “I’ve been coping.” 

“Coping? Why don’t you just come home? You could take a break.” she offers. “They’ve got a date settled for the funeral.” 

I shudder a little when she brings it up. A funeral seems so complete. My dad is dead and there is nothing I can do about it but show up at some funeral where I won’t know half of the people. His decaying body will be placed in some extravagant coffin and find its way into the ground for years and years. And that sounds terrifying. Instead of explaining how the thought of leaving Chicago and my spot in the TV show for a man who was a dick to me most of the time seems stupid, I lie. “I can’t leave. We’re in the middle of filming.” 

“I could still visit you.” she tries some more. 

“Mom, I’m fine.” I keep lying to her in a flat voice that bleeds sadness. “I just don’t think I will be able to make it to the funeral.”

There’s a silence on the other end and I start to regret telling her so flatly. “I’m worried for you, Ry.” she explains. “You’re alone and–” 

“I have friends here.” I say quickly. I might feel alone a lot recently but I know I have friends. 

“I wasn’t saying you didn’t. I just know you, Ryan. You love to mourn and you love to do it by yourself.” she says sagely. 

I don’t know what to say that won’t make it sound like she hit the nail right on the head. It’s not that noticeable, either. It’s not that I like feeling sad or having a reason to mourn, it’s more that I feed off the thoughts of it. There’s just something about knowing I have a reason to feel shitty that I get infatuated with. I like to write long pages of poetry and generally beat myself up all at once. I’m surprised that my mom even picked up on it. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I claim stubbornly. 

“Yes you do.” she says confidently. “I have to go to a meeting but...Ryan, come home if you need to. Stay if you want to. Just don’t do that thing where you just stop trying. I love you.” 

Love you, too. “Okay, bye.”

I hang up and fall back into my bed. She’s only seen me at rock bottom a few times, more so with post-Brendon feelings, but I don’t think she knows that much about me. I may be acting bitter and lonely right now but only because I feel like it. Plus, I’m an actor, I can act types of feelings and get it away. I try to think of ways I could ‘stop trying’ but only a few come to mind. Those are unnecessary and abrasive. 

As I lay, staring at the ceiling angrily, I realize I can mourn all by myself for as long as I want. 

 

I sit in hair and makeup, it being way too early in the morning for me to be functioning. I lazily hang my hands over the side of the chair as Gem, the daily makeup artist, applies liquid foundation to my already clear face. I’m sure there’s a whole reasoning to why she does it, but I don’t bother asking. She’s humming a song I heard on the radio on the way here. I get slightly irritated by the way she keeps humming the same part. I don’t say anything, though. I’m paid to sit here and get caked with makeup, then get changed, and then become someone else for a whole day. 

It’s actually my favorite job thus far. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t criticize the dark circles under my eyes. My presence lately has been ghost-like and everyone wants to let me know. Kara, the girl who dresses Cameron on the show, has been telling me I’m too skinny. I’ve gotten those comments my entire life but she makes it seem worse. She’ll take out a tape measurer and wrap it around my middle, sighing softly and telling me I’m wasting away. Hayley says the same kinds of things, throwing smiles at the end as if to make me feel better. She’s a good friend, though. I just can’t manage to pull myself together enough for anyone.

Like every single day, at almost the same time, Brendon walks up to me. He sits in the chair next to mine, already having his makeup done at least an hour ago. He spins in the chair a few times, having to keep his feet above the floor. He stops abruptly, looking at me. 

“Do you want me to get you a donut?” he asks, looking happier than usual. Lately he’s been looking down and I guess I might know why.

We’ve completely avoided talking about that night. I feel guilty about the entire event and telling Brendon that I loved him when I’m still so unsure about everything. I think I just wanted to be loved and feel love at the same time. It’s still so confusing for me, though. Thus, I keep Brendon at yet another standstill. He takes it like the player he is, switching back to friend mode and keeping his respected distance. I can tell he hates it. 

“I’m good.” I decline his offer. 

“Do you even eat anymore? I never see you touch any of the food.” he says worriedly. 

“I eat.” I cover up the truth, so much that I’m essentially choking it. 

Lately I haven’t been hungry at all. Plus, when I do eat something small I end up throwing up. It’s better just to skip out on all foods instead of trying and ending up on the bathroom floor. I just don’t want Brendon to have to worry about that, too. I feel like he is just watching a documentary about how my life is slowly falling apart. I’m just fading away and he keeps watching. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for when I disappear or he’s waiting to help me. I have a feeling it’s the latter. 

Brendon still doesn't look convinced. “Ry, did you even get any sleep last night?” 

I think back to last night. I played guitar for countless hours, myself cranking out yet another tragically slow and mournful song that I probably won’t ever do anything with because I’m scared to give anyone the lyrics. I even managed to get into bed at a decent time but I just couldn’t fall asleep. “Enough.” 

I feel asleep two hours ago, to be awoken by a shrilling alarm clock. 

“Can you close your eyes for a second?” Gem asks me, a pallet of light colors in her hands. I do as I’m told. 

“So, you’re not going then?” Brendon asks timidly, undeniably referring to the funeral for my dad. 

“I already told my mom I wasn’t.” I shrug, eyes still closed. “Don’t even know why she bothered calling me again.”

“He’s your dad.” Brendon says seriously. 

“Well, I didn’t fucking know that, Brendon. Thank you for letting me know.” I snap, trying not to distort my face and annoy Gem. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried.” 

When I finally get permission, I open my eyes to the bright lights of the makeup counter. I flicker over to Brendon’s figure in the chair next to me. He’s staring across the room with a grave look on his face. He must realize I’m looking at him so he turns back to me. I know what I need to do but I still think about what I want to do. When I told him that I loved him, that was too far. I’m letting myself slip and I really shouldn't let that happen. I need to just ruin this to the point of no return but I don’t even know how to. 

“I don’t want you to.” I tell him firmly, not even trying as hard as I should be. “I don’t want your damn help, Brendon. I don’t want you trying to make me feel better. I don’t want you always near me. I don’t...I don’t need you. I’m not a little kid; I can look after myself.” 

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. That’s all I feel. It’s barely shining through my dark thoughts but I know it’s in copious amounts. I can’t do something to Brendon. He doesn’t deserve my shit. I don’t want him to like me. If I can’t like myself how could I deserve for someone else to? I’m so weak and Brendon’s so strong. We only mix well with each other for a while. We’re like drugs and alcohol. It’s great at first but sooner or later it becomes deadly. 

“Okay.” he squeaks. I watch as Brendon’s face falls tremendously. His eyes are the worst part because they betray him the most. Even if he says ‘okay’ I know that’s not what he wants to say by any means. He picks himself off the makeup chair and gives me one last glance and I have to look away when I realize his eyes look glassy. 

I just stare at my dulling refection in the mirror as Gem prods at my face. It’s like my reflection is laughing at me. You’re a monster and you know it. I try to keep my face neutral, making sure Gem doesn't start feeling bad for me. I would hope she wouldn’t after she just heard me attack defenseless, innocent Brendon with a jagged knife straight to his heart. 

“He’s not gonna give up.” Gem says, making eye contact through the mirror at me. I finally give up my guard.   
“I hope not.” 

 

I roll over in my bed, the sheets still feeling too warm. It's like I'm cocooned and I'm stuck forever. I won't sleep but I know I have to. I can practically feel the deprivation on my eyelids when I close my eyes, but I still can't manage to be captured into sleep’s dark edges. 

It’s been three weeks since my dad’s death. Three weeks. His body must be slowly corroding away and might already be in a coffin, being given a life sentence in the dirt. It makes me upset but lately it’s been getting harder and harder for me to even show emotion. I feel caught in my head where feelings are just strands of grass that pull out of the ground. The grass won’t go on living after you pluck it out. 

I don't like living by myself. I've decided this at least a week ago. I like to know someone else is near me and hopefully won't leave me. It's a little better knowing that Brendon is in the next apartment and all I have to do is listen really hard and I can hear him doing something. I wonder if he listens as intently as I do. He must not anymore. After I told him off, he’s been avoiding me. I can’t bring myself to feel too cruel for my attack on him. I was only doing it for him.

I raise my hands in the air and examine them. They're long and spindly, the pads of my left fingers rough from pushing down guitar strings. They remind me that I can do a lot. I can create so much with so little and I'm not sure why I waste it so often. I start singing 'Cathedrals' by Established Heroes because it has a line in it about left-handed people and sometimes my memory just does that. I just hear something or think something that is in a song. I can't always sing it to myself, but since I'm alone I let my voice spread through my dark apartment. 

I'll never like it. My voice is rough and not good enough for me. It just makes sense for me to be able to sing because I write lyrics and I can play instruments. It just fits this invisible equation that I haven't completed yet. Even when I try to grab at notes that are higher than my ceilings I still manage to do it with dignity even if my voice cracks. I know my limits and I can't do anything about it so I take advantage of what I can do. 

I hear a hesitant knock on my door and my singing stops abruptly right in the middle of the chorus where Brendon will sway his voice while singing 'and darling we'll burn down the cathedrals and close our eyes so we don't have to watch'. 

I sit up and unravel myself from the sheets that tie me to my bed. When I open the door I don't think twice about the fact that it is three A.M. I swear, when you can never sleep, the times of day just blend together like an eraser smudged to broad lines. When the doorknob’s turned and the wood door reveals Brendon, I get embarrassed. I was just singing his song poorly to myself. 

"I assumed you were still up because of the singing." he tells me, looking solemn.

"You can hear me?" 

"Yeah," he nods, his eyes looking just as tired as mine. "I never knew you sang in the shower." 

"You do too." 

He just smiled weakly for a moment. Why does he look beat up like me? He didn't lose anyone that I know of. I don’t think it’s because of me. I just told him I loved him and left him and maybe yelled some words at him. It can’t be because of me. No. Maybe it's the show that is getting hard on him. I kind of doubt it, though, because Brendon's just naturally good at everything. Still, he looks dead in the eyes and small in demeanor. I can't help but want to fix him but anything I can do for him seems out of reach for my mind to find.

"So, uh, you should get changed and we should go someplace." he says, looking down at my pajamas from Christmas time on my hips.

"Where?" I ask, not sure if I really want to leave my chamber. Nothing that bad happens to me in here. I might die a lot here, but it's only temporary.

"It's a surprise." is all Brendon lets me in on. He doesn’t look up for a surprise himself. 

I stare at him, debating what do. It would make him happy. I just keep repeating that in my head. It would make him happy. I'm not sure why I always want to make him happy at strange times, but I swear, he deserves happiness more than any other person I have met. I still deny him that right more than I should. I still really need to break myself away from Brendon but I can’t manage. He’s standing in front of me in bad conditions and I still have three words on the tip of my tongue. 

"Okay." I give in to a nonexistent persuasion, opening my door a little for Brendon to come in. He looks surprised at first, but still squeezes past me.

I leave him and go to my bedroom to retrieve clothes from my drawers that are spilled out onto the floors. I never got around to finishing color coating everything last night. I get out jeans and a T-shirt, knowing that it's cooling down already. I get changed with a bad sense of dread running through me. Who knows where we are going. I don't even want to leave my apartment but Brendon has always been a safe thing to me. It's completely ironic to even me but still satisfying.

When I get back out to the living room and front door, Brendon is sitting on the couch. He has my copy of Alice in Wonderland in his hands.

"I've read it a few times already, but I like to read it when I think I need to leave where I am now." I admit to him. I watch as he looks up from the open pages, his eyes adjusting to the view in front of him.

"I was just reading the preface. Lewis Carroll seems interesting." 

"Yeah, I guess." 

I’ve never read the preface. 

He stands up and we head towards the door wordlessly. Brendon leads the way, holding the door open for me. I don't bother with thanking him; we're finally past that. He gets ahead of me again and we walk and walk until we are at Lake Shore Drive. We're still by the buildings, the road roaring with cars even at this hour. On the other side, though, there's a lake that’s begging for my eyes to stare at for hours. My eyes still manage to transfix back on the cars forging forward.

"What if I just walked out in front of one of these?" I ask Brendon, my eyesight not even drifting towards him.

"I'd think you were incredibly selfish." he says in a drone like voice. I can't tell if he's serious or not.

"It's all in the perspective." I whisper. I clear my voice and speak louder. "Can we get to the other side? Go to the beach?" 

I finally look over to Brendon who is staring at me, a fond smile on his lips. "Yeah, yeah that's what I was planning." 

Brendon surges forward, walking to what looks like a train station exit. We walk down the stairs, no one else there. I get nervous as Brendon leads us into a dark tunnel of sorts and I realize this isn't a train entrance. Instead, I figure out that the street is above us and we're technically crossing the street with all the fancy cars that could make my blood a lovely red paint. I instantly grab for Brendon's hand that I can barely make out in the dark. I’m not completely sure if I still have the right to do this but I hold onto it like a lifeline. He'll lead me back to the moonlight. 

He squeezes my hand, as if he's confirming my thoughts and then suddenly we are across Lake Shore Drive and Lake Michigan is a delicious meal for my eyes to eat up. I walk faster, making Brendon's arm tug forward from where our hands are interlocked. When a jogger runs by, I turn to Brendon and give him a sad look. We know we can't do this. Sadly for us, handholding isn't exactly friend material for the press. Suddenly our hands aren't together and it stings in my chest.

"Can we sit next to the water?" I ask, because this is Brendon's trip, not mine. 

"Whatever." he mumbles, his eyes still lingering on my hand. 

I slip them in my pockets and head towards the water. There is a forever long strip of pavement and then a drop off to where the lake lies. There are no fancy fences or anything so I plop down and dangle my feet over the side. The water isn't anywhere near the soles of my Vans but I still feel good inside, like I'm part of something bigger than me. Brendon sits next to me and we look out to the way the moon shines on the water. 

"I wish I had a notebook right now. I could write something mildly interesting." I tell him, looking over to his face. He's got his big, brown eyes on me and it makes me slightly nervous. 

"I love you still, Ryan." he whispers looking like he's going to cry. I instantly look away, making sure I don't utter words I will regret later. “I feel like such a fucking broken record lately because that’s all I ever tell you but it’s–just it’s the only thing I think when I see you.”

"I know." is all I can offer this poor boy. 

I’m tearing him to pieces and I’m completely aware of it.

"I just don't know what to do about that and I'm sick of this." 

"Sick of what?" I inquire, my eyes staring at the way the waves hit the concrete a little ways down.

"Not being good enough for you." 

I try not to snort. Brendon's always been too good for me. "I'm sorry." I tell him, not sure how to tell him what I'm thinking. I’ll never be able to do that.

“Did you even mean it?” he asks vaguely, but I know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“I...think.” I mutter. 

Brendon sighs loudly. “How do you just– you think you love me? I don’t understand you, Ryan. At this point, I’d rather you tell me that you aren’t interested in me at all than what you’re doing. This whole stringing me along thing, this is fucking hell. I know I should just give up because that’s the sensible thing to do but I just can’t.” 

I feel small even if I so obviously play a much larger role in Brendon’s mind. I’m the villain now. I’m inflicting evils that I am oblivious of. At the same time, though, I am aware of my pretenses. Maybe this is my subconscious trying to get revenge on Brendon from before. I really want all these games to end just as much as Brendon does but I’m afraid everything wrong will happen again. 

“I don’t want you to give up.” I tell him helplessly. 

He looks from my face to the water and the only thing I catch is a disgusted face. “There you go again.” he says despondently. 

I fiddle with my fingers and try to feel guilty. “I’m sorry.”   
Brendon heaves another sigh and looks back at me. I watch his eyes travel down my form, and I feel neurotic. “I’m really worried for you. I know you told me not to...but look at you. Fuck, I– I just remember your ribs. I could count each one, Ry. That’s not healthy.” 

“I was always skinny.” 

“Not that fucking skinny.” he reprimands me. "Do you sleep at all anymore?"

"Yeah." I lie. I don't need him to worry and this entire conversation is the opposite of why I came with him tonight. 

"Please, just, Ryan." he sounds choked up. "Just be honest. I–I can't stand it anymore. Aren't we close enough to where we can just talk and not fucking lie? I just want to know everything about you and you won't say anything and you told me to go away but I can’t and I want to help and listen and–" 

"What do you want to hear? That I can't fucking sleep and I don't want to eat and I'm done? I just want to stop breathing and give up, but, God, I don't want to go and be wherever my dad is. I'm scared and I don't know...I don’t know anything right now and it’s killing me." I tell him, letting him in on exactly what's going on with me lately. 

There's a long pause and I'm worried he was lying about loving me and he doesn't care anymore, but his arms are suddenly around me. A hug. I think I still know how these work. I don’t deserve these things from Brendon. I still wrap my arms around him and remember that Brendon Hugs are ten times better than other hugs. I'm not sure how, but he fills me with a hope I didn't even know was there. 

"Please, please just promise me you won't kill yourself." he says. I just can't look at him. He tugs me out of our embrace and I flinch a little as he puts his hands on my shoulders and he forces our eye contact. "Ryan, please listen to me. I don't know what I'd do without you. Just promise me?" 

I realize he's crying, his face illuminated by the street lights and glowing water. I hold up my pinky finger to him, the only truthful promise I can think of. It’s a promise that reminds me of my youth and I always kept my promises when I was young. Everything was so much easier with that innocence that I lost so long ago. He doesn't question it or laugh, just hooks his finger in mine and I know I won't do anything to myself. I promised Brendon. 

"Things will get better, I fucking swear to you." 

With that, we just sit back and watch the waves crash and the moon above us. We're both dying on the inside for different reasons and both of us can save the other so easily. But for Brendon and me, everything is mutually assured destruction.


	18. Chapter 18

It’s later than usual for filming to still be happening. I’m on the soundstage, a fake restaurant built around me. There are a few extras pretending to have casual conversations while I talk effortlessly to Brendon and William. I’m not even sure what exactly we’re talking about. Cameron’s words just spew out of my mouth from too quick memorization methods. This is our last scene for the episode and for filming tonight and I’m ready to leave. 

“Cut! That’s good for tonight, guys. Ryan, a word?” Mason says happily, beckoning me towards his empty corner. 

The corner has a reputation for being the one where Mason yells at people. I’m a little worried about what he’s going to say but I still trudge over to him. I almost miss the alarmed look Brendon shoots me before I leave. I just shrug a little. At least we’re on semi-stable terms now. We’re still in this mutual agony thing, though.

“Yeah?” I say sheepishly. 

Mason doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He observes me and it’s mainly all in my eyes. “You’re not getting better.” 

“I thought I was.” I manage, knowing he’s partly right. 

“Well, you’re wrong.” he tells me confidently. “Everyone’s worried, and don’t even get me started about Brendon. Maybe it’s time–” 

“Brendon?”

Mason looks across the room where he might think Brendon is. He’s gone, including everyone else from the cast that still happens to be here this late. “You don’t even notice, do you?” he asks. I just give him what I hope is a questioning look. “While you’ve been down about your father’s death, Brendon’s been...gone.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” I say. 

He sighs loudly, looking back across the empty room. “He’s falling apart watching you fall apart.” 

“He seems fine. Maybe a little down, but he’s still the same.” 

“No he’s not, Ryan. His acting is starting to slack and you’re the reason for it.” he says, and I’m about to tell him that it’s not my fault but he shakes his head and continues. “I found him crying one day because of you. Just the way he looks at you is sad. You either need to leave or sort some shit out. If you want to leave then at the next table read we’ll write you out.” 

Write me out. This job has become such a basic routine for me. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to wake up on Mondays and not go to a table read and be harassed by Hayley. I can’t imagine leaving my apartment next to Brendon and leaving Chicago, which has become a second home to me. I don’t want to have to give up my role because of Brendon. Still, part of me wonders if Mason is being honest. Have I really made Brendon ‘fall apart’? 

“Okay.” I seal my fate, wincing a little. “I’ll...I’ll go home.” 

“I don’t want to do it either, Ryan. This season is almost over, anyway. Just go home and relax. And maybe for now, go talk to Brendon and tell him. I’m not sure what exactly is going on between you and him, but I’m certain he has a shit ton of feelings for you.” 

I nod, rushing out. I don’t even bother covering up the obvious relationship between us. I feel my body gravitate towards the bathroom, ready to throw up the small amount of food I ate today to make Brendon feel better. I ignore it, fleeing elsewhere. I slowly walk backstage and get off my clothes and scrub off the light amount of makeup. I take a long look down the hallway with everyone’s dressing rooms. I stop in front of Brendon’s, realizing it’s slightly open. I peer in and gasp lightly. 

William and Brendon must not have heard me, too caught up in the heated moments they’re sharing. Before I step back, I watch horrified as Brendon allows himself to be pushed further into the couch. William has him wrapped in his arms, kissing him roughly. Brendon's shirt is off, and William’s pants are unbuckled. I step back and almost run out of the building, knowing exactly where that scene was heading. It’s not like I’ve never seen Brendon and William making out, it’s just that I’m not part of the equation this time and they are both sober. 

This is a fucking punishment. I know exactly why all this is happening to me. It’s karma. I’ve treated Brendon like shit for too long and now I’m finally being punished. And in all, it really hurts. It’s like I can finally feel what Brendon’s been dealing with. I try to think that maybe this is worse, but I doubt it. I was there where Brendon is now. Not so long ago, all I wanted was for Brendon to leave Sarah and just love me and only me. I was a shy and nervous kid who was terrified about how I felt for a guy. I feel bad for Brendon and how he has to deal with me twisting the knife I impaled into his heart all the fucking time. 

I get a cab by myself, which I’m not used to doing because usually Brendon shares one with me. Looks like he’ll be coming home with William tonight, though. I try to block out what I just saw, registering how much I really disliked it. Brendon’s always seemed so loyal and dead set on only going for me. He must have finally given up on me. Something about that thought is revealing and then it hurts. I asked for this, though.

So as I loll my head back on the taxi’s backseat, I try to keep my newly found emotions at bay. I’m leaving. None of this matters. Soon I will be gone and never have to know about what Brendon is doing with William Beckett. I’ll escape Brendon Urie again and hopefully make it out better than I did the first time. It’s just so fucking complicated. Brendon was begging for a chance with me a while ago, and now that I finally feel something for him again William snags it from me. I didn’t even know I cared this much for Brendon until I saw them together. 

On the elevator ride up to my apartment I blink back to when I left Brendon all by himself in the hotel restaurant. Hell, the place probably isn’t that far away from here. I think back to how I felt like the world was falling down as I descended floors in a hotel that is full of dreaded memories. Instead of Brendon breaking my heart, I’ve done so to him. He coped in a different form than I ever would and I can’t blame him. 

Before I enter my apartment, I stare at Brendon’s door, stopping in my tracks. I reach out and drag my fingers down the door and feel pathetic. Fuck. I screwed up yet another thing. Brendon promised me things would get better but so far they just keep crumbling. I want his honesty but I’ve failed to be granted it. I dropped the key and there is no going back for it. 

At one point, I find myself looking out the giant window in my apartment, feeling tears in my eyes. I watch as the blurry Chicago lights burn into my vision. Happy tourists making new memories in the windy city. I’ve been here for way too long. It’s time I retreat like usual. I might be the windy city kid here, but at home I’m just a kid who keeps running away. 

 

To my dismay, Brendon does bother to share a taxi ride to work with me on Monday. I scoot all the way to the window and make sure there is a wide gap between us. I keep flashing glances at Brendon, trying to see if Mason was right. He does look pretty shitty. He looks effortlessly tired and fed up. He talks in short sentences with a maximum of three words. I thought that maybe he would be better, considering he’s probably getting help from William. Maybe they snuggled up on one of their couches and watched movies with a gallon of ice cream. Maybe Brendon took him on one of his infamous surprise trips. Unfortunately for me, I have no right to know.

It’s Monday morning; my last in Chicago. When we enter, the usual assistant gives me my last script and I start to feel the emotions that I’ve completely blocked out for the past month. It annoys me how quickly I revived my feelings. They just suddenly reappeared in my mind, easing me into a terrifying mindset. So, I take the script into my hands and do the thing I always do: don’t look at it until we start. 

Brendon is silent next to me. Maybe he heard already. I didn’t bother coming to see him all weekend to tell him I’m leaving. He didn’t visit me like he usually does so I don’t feel bad about it. I really wanted him to come, though. Still, I spent all weekend silently dying in my apartment. 

“Alright.” Mason calls the room to order, clearing his throat. “Just wanted to let you all know this is Ryan’s last episode with us. He’s leaving to go home after we’re done filming.” 

I feel all the eyes pour in on me. It should have been expected and I can tell that some of the cast don’t seem surprised. I get looks of sympathy and understanding but when I turn to Brendon all I get is confusion. He’s staring at me like he’s just been stabbed in the back, and in a theoretical sense, I did just that. It’s for his own good, though. That’s the whole point of me leaving. To better him. To better my Brendon. Still, I watch as his mouth gapes open and he looks teary-eyed as he looks back down to his unopened script. 

“Let’s get started.” Mason says, staring directly at me with something unrecognizable flickering in his eyes. I don’t keep up the eye contact. 

We go through the script, Brendon’s voice cracking at some points. I can hear mine a little unsteady and not prepared for someone else’s words to come out. The last scene of the episode is just Brendon and me. We’re at my house in the show and I tell him I’m leaving him to peruse my desired design job. Brendon’s supposed to be happy for me, missing me but knowing it’s for the best. We kiss at the end and I don’t blame Mason for adding it in. I won’t fight it. Kisses between Brendon and me have become so detached. Another confusing, cheap kiss won’t change anything. 

Once we’re done, everyone piles out of the room but I stay in my seat. I stare at the last few lines, feeling myself slowly drown in its words. I know Brendon is still next to me, not having left the room yet, either. Everyone is gone but us, and we’re completely silent. I hear Brendon stand and I keeping staring at the script, waiting for this to end. 

“You couldn’t have found the fucking time to tell me before this?” Brendon whispers, his obvious anger stabbing me like tiny pins. “You just decided to let me be attacked.” 

“I’m sorry.” I apologize softly, feeling like throwing up all over the shiny table I’ll see for the last time today. 

“Don’t fucking apologize!” he shouts. “I know it’s been a mess between us lately, but it would have been nice for a warning. Lately it’s like all you want is for me to fall apart faster and faster. I don’t understand you, Ryan.” 

I try to say anything, but I can’t manage to open my mouth. Brendon just shakes his head at me and bounds out of the room, making sure to throw his script to the floor before leaving. I just put my throbbing head down on the table and try to steady my breathing. It’s okay. I’m leaving soon. This will all become a glimmer in my memory sky and I won’t have to look back at if I don’t want to. 

 

The bags on my bed look so familiar as I fill them with my belongings. I put all my clothes and all my memories into the empty space. I try to put away my thoughts into the pockets and my feelings into the crowded corners of the duffle bags. I allow nostalgia to play out in the speakers of my iPod. I listen to the newest Established Heroes album ‘The Adoption Of Lions’ for the first time all the way through.

I feel like I can actually hear Brendon whispering the lyrics into my ears, his soft breath tickling. He wanted me to hear all of this, no doubt. The only other time I’ve listened to this, I was in complete denial this was all about me. The more I think about it, the more I can see the words build a grand story that was us at one point. It’s beautifully heartbreaking and relevant as I hum to the melodies that I barley even know. There are even several references that only either of us would catch in the lyrics.   
I’ll never be able to fully let go of Brendon with this kind of stuff still out there. 

Some of the lyrics even give us away a little. All about secret relationships and dead-end chances. Maybe even some of the fans can tell they are about me. They might not be able to prove they are, but I think some might know or guess maybe. I wouldn’t blame them. 

I pick up random things around the apartment, getting rid of them. I pick up a receipt from Navy Pier and I drop it back to the floor and then find my phone. I power it on, having kept it turned off for a week now. I don’t bother looking through the messages or missed calls, I simply type in a number I know by heart. I hear each ring go by, my disappointment growing more and more with each ear piercing noise. Before I’m about to hang up, a voice answers. 

“Hello?” she says, sounding confused why I would be calling. 

“I screwed up, Mom.” I tell her, feeling my stomach tie in knots and shame flow through my veins. “I’ve done it again.” 

“Ry, baby, what happened?” she asks, her voice suddenly full of concern. 

“I did exactly what you told me not to do.” I tell her. I can feel my eyes get watery but I contain them. “I’m coming home but I’m gonna be the same as the last time I ran away from Brendon.” 

There’s a long pause. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

I do just that, finally telling her everything that has happened to me since I’ve come to Chicago. I tell her about the boy at the airport, going to church with Brendon and Dan, Brendon comforting me while I was being terrible at acting the first filming, the onscreen kiss between us, going to Brendon’s apartment after hearing about my dad’s death, and how everything has fallen apart since. She listens to it all, not judging me whatsoever. I love her so much and I’m not sure how to tell her. She just listens to me bawl about each memory and she doesn’t say anything until I finish up telling her about Brendon’s outburst today. 

“Ryan, I know you don’t want to hear this but you’re both in the wrong. You need to apologize and forgive. If he was so upset about you leaving then he must not be too attached to William just yet.” 

“Mom, he fucking slept with him.” I whine, feeling more tears fall out my eyes without my consent. I feel worthless as I think of the memory. 

“Hun, you don’t know that.” she tells me. It’s so obvious, though. “I don’t think you want to run this time. I don’t think you should.” 

“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?” I choke out, thinking of the absolute worst. 

“If all you’re saying is true, then I don’t think he would forget about his love for you that quick. You need to try and apologize and I think…I think things will work out for you this time.” 

“Really?” I ask, my voice sounding childish and timid because I really need some hope right now. 

“Yes, it’s time for things to turn around for you, Ry.”


	19. Chapter 19

Things become calm. It’s like I’m waiting for the storm to arrive but still living my life. Brendon and I go back to avoiding each other. He seems to be a little less angry at me. I don’t bother confronting Brendon about William. I tried to talk to him on Wednesday but he seemed busy with memorizing lines. I really do think about what my mom says and how I should just forgive Brendon. It sounds so easy for me to just let Brendon back into my life. I just feel like I know I shouldn’t let it happen.

We filmed most of the show yesterday, but today is my official last day on set. Very fittingly, the last scene we film is my goodbye. Right now, I’m packing up some of the things I’ve kept in my dressing room for a while. Hayley is helping me, giving me sad eyes from across the room. 

“Who’s going to play ridiculous drinking games with me after you leave?” she asks me, pulling her red hair in a ponytail. 

I shrug. “I’m sure Brendon will.” 

“You know I’m not that close to him.” she complains. “I got close to you and now you have to leave.” 

“It’s for the best.” 

“Is that what Mason told you?” 

I look over to her and realize she’s not waiting for an answer, rather some kind of apology and canceling of future plans. I still put small odds and ends in a backpack, rewarding myself with a loud groan from her. I look around one last time, checking for things I might happen to own. I give up, placing the backpack on the couch. I look over to Hayley, who’s biting the side of her mouth. She gives me one last sad look then pulls me into a hug. Her arms warp around my whole torso and she squeezes. She smells girly and unfamiliar and I only let myself get squeezed into her tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss you, Ry.” 

“You too, Hales.” 

We slowly disconnect our bodies and just look at each other. Hayley suddenly holds up a pinky and grabs at my hand. 

“Promise me you’ll visit when you’re better?” she asks, practically pulling my pinky finger away from the rest and interlocking it with hers. 

I only nod and make sure she knows that I’m going to visit again at some point in the future. Don’t ask me how far into the future, but it will happen. I cowardly turn around and sit at the desk, going through the loose papers one last time. I hear a small knock on the open door to my room and turn my head to see Brendon at the door. I instantly get nervous and swivel around in my chair. 

“Hey.” Brendon says, making a straight line with his lips. 

“I’m gonna leave you to it, then.” Hayley says, sending me a familiar goodbye wave. “Bye, Ry.” 

I give her what I hope is a meaningful glance before directing my attention back to Brendon. He’s still standing in the doorway as Hayley passes and he moves over a little for her small frame to walk by. He finally walks in more, stopping in front of me. 

“Um, can we talk?” Brendon asks, not sounding anywhere near as malicious as he was two nights ago. I give him an accepting look and he continues. “I don’t think you should leave.” 

“It’s kind of already planned.” I explain obviously. 

“No, just, I don’t care about the show. I just want you to stay here. I don’t want you to leave. I know you hate me and everything, but–” 

“I don’t hate you.” I said it to Brendon when he came to see me on my birthday and I’ll tell him now. It’s virtually impossible for me to hate Brendon. 

“Well, I love you and...I can’t see you leave.” He needs to stop dropping that word around me. 

I wonder if this is where my mom would like me to apologize and accept his apology and for us to run off into the sunset together. I realize that my mom isn’t always right and I have to make my own decisions. “Then why were you with William, huh?” I almost yell, giving him challenging eyes. I suddenly have all this pent up anger for holding this in for so long. “Why would you sleep with him if you loved me so much?” 

Brendon suddenly looks shocked and scared all at once. Looks like I caught him. He doesn't bother asking me how I found out. “Ryan, William fucking used me! He just wanted sex and I–”

“Why would you even let him use you if you loved me?” I ask louder than all the rest. 

“Because I’m an idiot. I just wanted someone to love me back and you...you just kept letting me think we’d maybe someday be a thing again. One day William would be my best friend and tell me to keep trying with you and then the next day he’d tell me to give up and just get back with him because he was fucking using me, okay? I’m so stupid and I...I fell for it. And do you even know how it felt to spend one perfect night with you and then you just left. You always leave and–do you have any fucking idea how that feels to be alone?!” 

I feel like punching Brendon right in the face but it seems like he did it to me already. “You’re joking, right? Brendon, do you not even remember?” I accuse him of the worst. “The second you found out about those fucking pictures you left me. I was alone.” 

I watch as Brendon’s whole face falls even more than it has already. I feel my fingers curl up into angry fists because, fuck, I know how it feels to be alone. “I tried to fix things, though. You rejected me, Ryan. I really did try to fix my mess and get you back but you wouldn’t listen.” 

“You tried once!” I shout at him. “I felt so shitty about losing you and Sarah was just making it worse and then you showed up at my fucking doorstep like you could fix everything. Do you think I was really in the right condition to figure out everything right then? I was just hoping maybe you would try again and you never did and I just learned to live without you. Then you came back and I told myself I wouldn’t fall for you again and I did.” 

“Ryan.” Brendon whispers, looking completely torn down. 

“You know what the worst part of all this is?” I ask and I’m not expecting Brendon to answer and he doesn’t. “I still loved you. Fuck, I still loved you when we boarded that damn plane here. And I just ignored it because I knew you and me wouldn’t work out. Then I saw you with William and suddenly things were done and I was right.” 

I watch as Brendon seemingly falls to pieces in front of me. I watch as he realizes he had a chance but he ruined it. He puts an angry hand in his hair and tugs ruthlessly. “You don’t understand! William was a mistake. I was even more fucked up after he left me when he got what he wanted. Ryan, if you leave I’m not sure how I’ll do here.” 

“There’s no point for me to stay!” I explain loudly. “I’ve already realized that we’re not going to work out. Why would I stay here for nothing?” 

“I’m not nothing! You’re making no sense. If you love me and I love you then why can’t we just try again? It’s so goddamn stupid for us to ignore this and not get what we want.” 

“Because everything is going to go wrong again.” 

“But why won’t you take a chance? Even if shit goes wrong, we’ll still be happy for a while, Ry.” Brendon chokes out. “I miss when we were happy together. I miss seeing you smile and laugh and I’m so sick of you being sad all the time. I mean, fuck, you said you didn’t want to breathe anymore. I can’t let you leave. What if you did something? Do you even understand how I’d feel? I care way too much to see you leave.” 

I can see the tears brimming in his eyes and I have to look away from him. I have to put on a brave face even if it’s the last thing I feel. “Brendon, I’m fine.” 

“You always say that but...but you never look like you’re getting better. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you’re never truly happy. I just think maybe I can help or at least be here for you.” 

“Why do you–”

“Brendon, Ryan, set.” comes a voice at the door. The person leaves before I can even figure out who it is. 

I look away from Brendon, trying to pull myself together a little before heading off towards set. Brendon doesn’t follow me right away, but as I’m getting closer to the sound stage doors, I can hear his heavy footsteps on the dirty linoleum. I can already tell Mason’s going to give us shit for looking so angry at each other. He might even be able to tell we were just fighting. He’s annoying like that. 

The second Brendon and I enter the sound stage, Mason gets up from his signature directing chair and starts heading for us. He grabs us by our sleeves and yanks us over to his "yelling corner", addressing us with worried looks. 

“You both do realize this is a pivotal scene for this show and I don’t want any problems. I want this scene to be the one people talk about a lot and I know you two can do this.” Mason instructs harshly, turning to me. “Ryan, this is your last scene and I want you to do this the best you’ve ever acted no matter what’s going on with you right now. Shall we go film, then?” 

Brendon and I nod quickly, maybe a little scared. Mason is always cracking down on us with the metaphorical belt that is his creative vision, so the pep talk isn’t new. He’s just dead set on this scene and we can tell. I find myself being placed by the fake door, suitcases littering my wake. Brendon’s a couple feet away, still looking solemn from our fight. I try to block out any of his words now. That is someone else. I’m Cameron and Brendon is Emmet. 

“Action.” Mason says, leaning forward in his chair. 

Some assistant snaps the scene board and Brendon and I both look at each other, exchanging this mutual agreement that we’re going to finish this right. I wait for my cue, trying to keep myself from biting my lip. The camera finally pans over to Brendon and me. 

“Do you have your plane ticket? Are you sure your bags will be checked okay? Maybe I should go with you…” Brendon says, all of his words slurred and connected, but I can still understand each word as they ring through my ears. 

“No.” I smile fondly at Brendon, which is a stretch. “I’ve gone to an airport before, Em. I’ll be fine.” 

I watch as Brendon smiles a little, wincing as he places one of the faux-filled duffle bags on the floor. He walks closer, poking my shoulder casually. “I’m gonna miss you.”   
Even though it is Emmet telling me this, I can hear Brendon himself bleed into the words. He genuinely looks troubled and I know it’s not just because he’s a great actor. I feel at a loss for words as he stares me down. 

“Cut!” Mason shouts. “Brendon you are happy! You’re best friend is finally getting to do the job he’s always wanted. You are happy for him even though you’ll miss him.” 

I watch as Brendon looks shaken and I know Mason is just pouring salt into Brendon’s wounds right now. Before I know it, Brendon is walking back towards me, poking my shoulder again. “I’m gonna miss you.” This line comes with a smile this time. 

“I won’t miss you.” I joke in straight voice. “I’ll find all new friends in Maine and I’ll never need you again.” 

Brendon doesn’t look threatened by Cameron’s joke. “You better not be serious.” 

“Nah.” I say simply, forcing my legs forward. I pull Brendon, more Emmet at this point, and hug him. I feel Brendon’s light sigh as he puts his head on my shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you, too.” 

We stay in the hug for as long as the script calls for. It feels like ages and I finally force myself to move away from Brendon. He looks a little put off by the abruptness of the release, but his face recovers in record time, almost as if it never happened. Brendon and I both stare at each other and suddenly we’re not filming. This is no longer Cameron and Emmet’s moment, rather Brendon and Ryan’s. I think we both know this is our own goodbye scene for me, Ryan.

“I should probably go before I miss my flight…” I trail on, as if I’m waiting for something more and I can’t leave just yet. 

Brendon starts fixing the collar of my button up I have on, his right hand lingering longer than necessary. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good if you missed it.” he says, his right arm burning into my collar bone. 

I can barely register the tears that look like they are stemming up in Brendon’s eyes. It might be someone else’s words but all our sincerity. I have a feeling Mason is going to call ‘cut’ any minute now because Brendon is supposed to be happy but he doesn’t look it. Instead, Brendon and I keep exchanging these damaged-beyond-repair looks until he realizes it’s been long enough. 

I feel his right hand pull me closer to him by my shirt and he kisses me. I try not to sigh when our lips meet but I think I still do. Everything between Brendon and me goes away for the brief seconds we’re embracing. I don’t think about the fighting and the harsh words or the countless bitter kisses we’ve exchanged during our elongated stay in Chicago. I honestly don’t want to let go but Brendon appears to have more strength than me. He pulls away, a grin embossing his face. 

A pain glistens through my stomach as I realize I’m back to filming. The script said to smile, not his mind. We’re following someone else’s orders. I almost fall apart on the spot. I hear Mason call ‘cut’ and then he’s arranging differently, getting close ups on Brendon’s face then my own, repeating the same scene, minus the kiss. He explains that we did it good enough the first try. I’m not sure how to feel about that. With each loud ‘cut’, Brendon and I are pulled out of this false world and our half-assed real life apology.

Somewhere in the middle of the directions and camera angles, I get mixed up what’s real and what’s not. 

 

The taxi ride home with Brendon is silent. The driver tries to say something about the weather but Brendon and I politely try to show our disinterest with simple gestures. He understands, turning the knobs on the radio until he finds a channel that doesn’t come in with fuzz. I instantly flicker my eyes shut and sigh. Mindset plays through the speakers, loud enough to where there isn’t even a point to talk. I slowly slit open my eyes and look over to Brendon. He notices and finds my eyes. I crack a small smile before he does, but he follows. I look back at the window, my smile fading away into the bright lights that paint the town of Chicago as we go by. 

I sit back and listen to my best friend sing. I hear my own guitar snake through the speakers and casually move my fingers on the invisible fret board. Brendon’s voice comes in and I realize this sounds more like a remix than the original. I still know all the words by heart and something about listening to it in a taxi makes me realize how far my band has gotten. I look back to Brendon, who’s cowardly looking at me, his smile still on his face. He laughs a little and then I smirk, laughing with him.

It’s so fucked up and confusing, but we just sit in the back of the taxi laughing to our own song. We laugh at the naivety of the driver, who appears to have no idea we’re the ones who play this song. We laugh at each other, for even having the nerve to laugh in this fragile state. I think Brendon and I laugh as cynically as we can about how we both know everything is ruined but we both have this moment. 

“Hey, Brendon,” I say after my laughing has subsided, “why did you call your album ‘The Adoptions of Lions’?” 

Brendon stops smiling and looks serious. “You really wanna know?” he asks and I nod right away. “I, uh, watched a documentary about people who bought lions to keep with them in their homes and they always knew that they’d end up getting attacked by the lion but they still kept them. Most of them died. And…you and me. It was just…”  
I nod again, hearing the song end and our conversation doing the same. I was really hoping the name would be completely pointless but I had a feeling that it had a hidden meaning. It’s so true right now. Brendon and I both adopted each other into our lives, both of us seemingly personifying lions. Maybe we both knew that it would end savagely but we still kept each other. Now, the final attack kills more than an actual lion eating my insides. 

By the time the driver pulls up outside our apartment building, he’s eyeing us strangely. Brendon pays and I don’t fuss over it, instead make my way out of the car and follow Brendon towards the elevator. We go up to our floor, both of us leaning against opposite sides of the elevator. We stare at each other. Even though I assumed our final goodbye would be during filming, this feels like another one. 

I just stare into Brendon’s brown eyes and we do that thing where we say goodbye without opening our mouths. It feels just as intimate and knowing. I’m not even sure why I separate from Brendon’s side as he goes into his apartment and I find the key for my own. I look at his door after it’s closed, after Brendon is out of reach. I wonder why I keep doing this to myself. I love him and I hate him. It’s bad news for an indecisive kid like me. 

I fall into my apartment and shut the door behind me, realizing I still have some packing left over. I have a bunch of clothes I bought for the fall and winter weather I wasn’t expecting I still need to find room in my bags for. I still have to do a lot of things before I leave this quaint little home of mine. I still manage to pull out my guitar and play the first song that I always play lately. 

I fall into the chords that my dad co-wrote and I sing the words quietly, nothing ever being heard of the rattling of the strings. I play for longer than I intended when my phone is ringing from across the room. I decide that maybe it’s my mom about my arrival plans, so I get up and find it. I answer it when I realize who’s calling. 

“Hello.” 

“Hey, Ry, what happened with Brendon and you? I just talked to him and he’s...not taking things well.” Jon questions harshly, like this is all my fault. I wonder if he’s right. 

“I, um, I don’t know.” I say. “I’m going home and he doesn’t want me to.” 

“You told him, though.” he argues. 

“Told him what?” 

I already know what he’s going to say before it’s out of his mouth. “You told him you loved him but then said you wouldn’t stay. Come on, Ry, you know that’s shitty.” 

“He slept with William.” I remark, trying not to sound like I care about this. 

“Did you even listen to him?” he almost shouts and I’ve never heard Jon this upset before. “William used him and fucking lied to him. If anything, you should be helping him through that. Even if you’re not in a relationship, you’re still his best friend and the only true one in Chicago.”

I lick my dry lips, retracing my steps from when I first got to Chicago and how all of this happened. I come up blank, minus some words that spew out of my mouth to Jon. “We’ve never had a friendship, Jon. It’s been us circling each other since the beginning.” 

“I wish you could just hear yourself right now, Ryan.” he complains. “I know things have been pretty shitty for you recently, but Brendon’s not immune from bad stuff.” 

“I...I don’t care.” I refuse to feel bad for Brendon. We’ve said our goodbyes and there is no going back now. “I’ve said goodbye to him and it’s done. We’re done.” 

“You’re wrong. Maybe if you’d go talk to your fucking best friend next door, you’d realize he’s crying his eyes out because of your selfishness.” 

I try my hardest not to picture Brendon actually crying in the apartment next door. I’m sure it’s not the first time, either. It feels like just moments ago we were laughing in the taxi. “I can’t…” I whisper. 

“I can’t make you do anything but know what you’re doing, okay?” Jon hisses. “You’re breaking his heart and I’m pretty sure your own.” 

I swallow nervously, hoping that Jon will just hang up or calm down or something that involves me not feeling so guilty about all of this. “I don’t know, Jon.” 

“Figure it out, then.” he snarls, hanging up on me. 

I resist the urge to slam my phone to the ground, instead placing it on the kitchen counter and retreating to the living room couch. I make myself as small as possible and try to fall into oblivion.

Wouldn’t I know it if I was breaking my own heart?


	20. Chapter 20

My flight leaves at the surprisingly awake hour of three in the morning. I decided that I might as well get an early flight because I’m usually up all morning anyway and there will be less people there to notice the indescribable Ryan fucking Ross without his trusty partner in crime. They just don’t know what crime Brendon and I used to indulge in. 

I’m sitting on my couch, scrunched to the side. I turned off the TV a while ago, planning on just leaving early for my flight but now I can’t manage to get up. Jon’s words are still swimming through my thoughts, practically drowning in the never-ending sea. I tap my fingers on the fabric of the couch, keeping an even tempo. I look over to my guitar that is in its hard case, the baggage claim tag still sticking off the handle from a few tours and countless flights. I want to play it, but I know that I’ll spend way too long on it. 

I’m nervous about going home. I’m not exactly sure about the condition of my mom. Even though she and my dad were divorced, I think she still cared for him. They were close for so many years and no one would be doing very great after a death. I don’t want to come home the same way she told me not to. When I came here I knew that I couldn’t get involved with Brendon, but I think I still kind of knew it was going to happen. I don’t want to have to go home and deal with my mom’s disappointed eyes of having to deal with me and herself. 

I’m thinking when I get back I should just rent an apartment and move out. I don’t really like living by myself but I don’t want to feel like a burden for my mom. I’ll sort through the songs that I’ve been writing over the past year and a half and figure out which ones are the best to show Alex, Dallon, and Spencer. I might as well send them off with lyrics as well, considering they’ve read mine with Cracked. I’ll get back into music and slowly let my Chicago experience evaporate from my mind. 

I finally force myself off the couch and I just stand in my living room, staring at my temporary home. It’s weird to imagine not coming home to this same room every night. I’ll make it out alive, though. I head towards the kitchen, picking up my phone that I left on the kitchen table after Jon and I talked. I know he wants me to go visit Brendon and figure out all this shit but I really don’t want to. It sounds so much easier to just ignore his existence and go home. 

My phone displays no new messages or missed calls. I was expecting it, but still kind of hoped that it would be different. If Brendon is crying over me then why doesn’t he come fight for me? I scan through all the recent messages, looking through who they are from. Jon. Hayley. Brendon. Mom. Alex. Spencer. And even Dad. I click on his name and read the first few. We’re talking about the show and Chicago. Just idle chitchat that seems restrained. I feel a tightening in my chest and I wish I could have told him everything before he was gone. You’re told to do so your entire life, but you never really imagine you’ll regret your silence. 

I push the call button. I’m not expecting my dad to answer, his ghost self telling me words of wisdom. I just want the closure. I want him to tell me what to do but that ship has already sailed and I never even managed to get on it. After a few rings, where I wonder if this is the worst idea in the world at least a million times, I get his voicemail. His voice is disgruntled, as it usually was, and tells me to leave a message and he’ll get back to me. When I hang up the phone quickly, I realize that he won’t get back to me now and he never got back to me then.

I just wish he was here to tell me what to do. I don’t think I’d ever confess all my relationship problems with my dad, though. I doubt he’d want to hear all of this, but it would be nice to have his ear if I really did need it. There is part of me that knows all my dad would probably want from me is to be happy. And, right now, sitting in my apartment by myself is kind of the last thing I want in the world. I know what I want is someone who cares about me and who I can care about right back. I think I’ve just screwed that up though. 

I go off into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the made bed. I tried to put it together like I found it the first day here. It’s not as good as I hoped for. I put my head in my hands, my elbows propped on my knees. I hear it right away. Brendon’s room next door is once again emitting noises, and I hesitantly listen. Instead of soft crying like I would expect, he’s playing guitar but not singing. I know the song instantly, and something twists in my stomach. I’ve never played it in front of him or showed him the chords. 

And suddenly, I can see it. 

Instead of Brendon being next door, he is just in the room over. He's slammed the door to our bedroom, locking himself in and locking me out. I'll hear his sobs and I'll feel my guilt. It'll just be some stupid argument. Something about tour plans or wishing things we shouldn't have wished for. Soon enough, I'll get up from the couch and walk to the door, tapping softly and in a quiet voice I'll say I'm sorry.

Brendon won't listen right away, maybe telling me to go away or he'll just completely ignore me. But I'll be persistent because I know I'm lucky to have him and I can't lose my baby. I'll plead for him to just open the door and after a little bit, he'll comply. I'll see his mangled hair from the excessive pulling he does when he gets angry. I'll stare at his red-rimmed eyes and his complete loss of hope. Without words, I'll hug him and whisper my sincere apologies in his ear because he's the only one who deserves to hear them. Once he's settled down, we'll exchange a slow kiss and lay down in our bed. He'll turn on an album from the sixties and we'll just hold each other and listen to someone else's lyrics that explain our entire situation. 

It would be nice. 

Brendon and I, we could really be something.

Instead, though, he's still in the apartment next door crying over me because I'm so damn selfish and can't figure out my problems. I honestly think about what my dad would want me to do. He’d want me to be happy. Brendon makes me happy. I told him that he should have tried more times to get me back. I can’t see why that same rule can’t apply to me.

I hurry out of the room and leave my apartment hastily. I knock on Brendon’s door, waiting impatiently for him to answer. I completely ignore the fact that it’s a quarter after midnight, and knock louder. Brendon eventually opens the door looking slightly put off. He’s got on yesterday’s clothes still and his eyes are noticeably puffy and red. I feel like shit the second I see his appearance because Jon made sure to let me know this was my fault. 

“How do you know that song?” I ask before he can say anything. He looks confused, brushing a lock of his hair out of his eyes. “I can hear you through my walls and you were just playing something and...where did you hear it?”

Brendon finally looks tuned in, nodding his head. “You play it all the time, Ryan.” he explains, looking a little sheepish and embarrassed. “It’s just I, you know, liked it and so I just picked up the chords.” All my thoughts about me stealing the song from another band go away and I’m staring astonished at Brendon who appears to be blushing. “I’m sorry, I know it’s your song and everything–” 

“That was the song I wrote with my dad.” I manage to say, feeling my stomach tying knots and I wonder which kinds. “You remember the one I told you about?” 

Brendon nods jerkily. “Shit, really? Ry, I’m sorry, I didn't know.” 

Before Brendon can say much else, I envelope him in a hug. At first he doesn’t respond, maybe being in shock or maybe not knowing how to react to my hasty actions, but he does put his arms around me, one of them going higher than the other, and is lightly touching the nape of my neck. “It sounded so much better than when I play it.” I whisper. 

Brendon quiets me, keeping me in the hug. We just stand there in each other’s arms for a while, not bothered by the fact that someone could walk by or anything. We hug and I almost forget some of my problems. Sadly though, you can’t be hugging the problem and forget about it.

“When is your flight?” Brendon asks, still not letting go. His hand pets the back of my head and it’s extremely relaxing. 

“Dunno.” I mutter, knowing exactly when my flight is supposed to set off into the sky towards where I’m from. 

“I’m sorry. For everything.” he apologizes right in my ear. His voice sounds most sincere this way, his hot breath puffing on my ear. He shouldn’t be the one apologizing and it makes me feel cruel and sick. “I know that you’re leaving, but I love you. I know I say that a lot but I mean it even more every time I say it.” 

I finally feel our hug let go and the first thing I see is Brendon’s eyes, craving three words in return. “Jon said you cried because of me.” I disappoint. 

Brendon goes back to looking embarrassed. “Because you’re leaving.” he states pointedly. 

“I’m sorry, Bren.” I say in a small voice. “But...what if I didn’t leave?” I entertain the thought aloud. 

“You could!” he says sounding excited at the mere idea of me just staying in Chicago. “I know they’ll take away your apartment but you can stay in mine and...yeah, you can stay with me. We can watch stupid movies and eat more ice cream and talk and–God, please stay.”

“What about William?” I ask, a sour taste filling my mouth as I think about them together. 

“I told you, he just wanted to fuck me. And if I have you, I won’t need him.” 

“Brendon, I’m a dick, though.” I confess. “I’ve been awful to you and I’m worried that I’ll hurt you more.”

“I don’t care, just, Ry, please stay.” 

It’s Brendon who initiates the kiss, stepping forward and leaning in. This one is different from the one we did not too long ago. No one else is here to steal away the moment. It’s just Ryan and Brendon, just like the way this whole fucking thing started. Even in the small amount time our lips are connected, I remember our first kiss. All an accident. We’ve still managed to stumble our way through the same kinds of accidents. We’re still stupid and young and hurt. Maybe Brendon and I will always be vulnerable but as we kiss, I realize I might be able to cope with the thought of us helping each other. 

“I love you.” I tell him the second we’re apart, staring into his brown eyes. “And if you don’t mind me staying…” 

“Really? You’ll stay?” Brendon says excitedly and I almost think he missed the ‘I love you’, but I don’t really think he did when he grabs for my hand. Brendon starts babbling after this point. “Because, like, I don’t want to see you leave and I like Chicago and I wanna go to the beach with you. And maybe we could go to one of those boat shows at Navy Pier when it gets warmer. Oh, and we still need to go on the observation deck of the Willis Tower.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” I smile at him. Still, I hear what he’s saying but I feel like I’m forgetting something. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’ve been so selfish. You’ve been here the entire time and I just...I was too worried for myself. I’m not going to do that again.”

Brendon pulls on a wide grin. “Your apology is accepted.” he says, leaning in and I think he’s going to kiss me on the lips again, but instead he kisses my nose lightly. 

I just laugh a little, feeling my face form what I almost forgot was a proper smile. “You’re weird.” 

“I love that smile. That's a real smile. Maybe you need more nose kisses in your life. We’ll have to plan that, too.” 

I can’t help but to keep laughing giddily at Brendon, squeezing his hand. “We probably could.” I snort, pushing him into his apartment, or well, our apartment. I forget all about the plane ticket and all about the packed bags in my own apartment, and I forget about a lot of shit when I’m with Brendon. 

I wonder why in the world I would ever allow myself to let Brendon Urie, my best friend, slip through the cracks of my fingers at one point.


	21. Epilogue

“Fifteen minutes!” Brendon warns, practically screaming over the music that is blaring in the apartment. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t complained yet. 

I don’t bother yelling out to let him know I’ve heard, rather look back to the mirror and fix my hair more. It’s doing that thing where it’s sticking up in random places. I use a thick gel to push down some of the locks, growing more and more weary at my reflection by the second. I hear the music get turned down, but it’s still audible. I’m sighing when Brendon casually struts into the bathroom, giving me a hug from behind. His chin hooks over my shoulder and I’m about to make a sarcastic comment about how much of a picturesque couple we make, but he starts talking. 

“I apologize in advance for any disgruntled comments my mother may say.” Brendon tells me, watching my reflection as I put more gunk in my hair. 

“I’m sure it will be fine.” I tell him, deciding to give up and wash my hands in the sink. “Besides, my mom will probably give her a lecture if she says anything about us.” 

Brendon starts giggling, letting go of me and slumping into the wall of the bathroom. “I hope that happens.” 

I roll my eyes, making sure it’s obvious in the mirror, and towel off my hands. I go back to mentally prepping myself. It wasn’t Brendon’s or my idea to have both our moms come to Chicago and have a nice dinner with each other, but it’s happening. My mom hasn't seen me since I left for the shooting of the show, so she’s been anxious to visit me. I never ended up going to the funeral, which has become a slight regret for me. I’m just glad I’m finally put together enough for her. It’s still nerve wracking because I’ve only briefly met Brendon’s parents and that was before they knew about us. Brendon and I don’t exactly hide our relationship to them anymore. 

I meet Brendon’s eyes in the mirror. He’s smiling with his teeth, sending me a crooked look. I turn around to face the real him and straighten his tie absentmindedly. “So, your mom isn’t that opposed to us, right?” 

“I don’t think so...not anymore.” he shrugs, grabbing for my hand that’s still tugging on his tie. “It’s mainly my dad who doesn’t like it.” 

“I know that feeling.” I mumble, looking down to my expensive shoes that peek out from my dress pants. 

Brendon leans in and kisses my cheek, leading us out of the bathroom. I make sure to turn off the light before he’s completely dragged me out. I disconnect our hands, going over to the kitchen counter. I pick up my phone to find I have a few messages from my mom. I gloss over them, realizing she’s almost at the restaurant. I grab my wallet and head towards Brendon at the door. 

“The music.” I remind Brendon, his own phone still playing in our ears. 

He nods and rushes over to his phone, but right when he gets there the song changes and the familiar guitar riff of I Feel Fine by The Beatles starts playing. Brendon shoots me an excited look and I roll my eyes as he turns the volume back up high. He starts singing along, his voice fitting nicely over John Lennon’s. I join in when Brendon approaches me, moving his hips in a laughable fashion. We both belt out “I’m in love with her and feel fine”, probably ticking the neighbors off regardless of whether they like The Beatles or not.

“My mom’s almost there.” I let him know, holding up my phone to symbolize the messages as he dances around our apartment pathetically. 

Brendon finally stops his music and deposits his phone into his pocket. We exit the apartment, both humming the song under our breath. I watch as Brendon locks the door and closes it, giving me an excited bordering worried look. I keep my hands to myself as we venture to the elevator. Once the doors close I lean my head on Brendon’s shoulder, my left arm winding around his torso. 

“Glad you’re not terrified of elevators anymore.” Brendon smiles, smoothing my hair. 

“I wasn’t terrified.” I complain, looking up at him with a wide smile. “I was just mildly scared. There’s a difference.” 

“Hm, okay, Ry.” he jokes. 

Right before we know the doors are about to open, we share a slow kiss and I kind of wish we could stay like this for the rest of the night. Still, when the door rings open, we separate. We both exchange a mutually saddened look but know soon enough we can do whatever we want in the privacy of our apartment. 

As expected, the cab Brendon called is waiting for us outside. We get in and tell the driver where to go. The ride is relatively short but when I see the lavish restaurant in my vision, I feel a little sick. I’m excited to see my mom but also nervous. I kind of left her to heal for herself when my dad died and I still feel slightly guilty about that. I know she won’t bring it up or anything, it will just be in the back of her mind. I know she’ll remember the night I called her and cried about all my problems. She’ll remember and I’ll pretend I don’t. 

Brendon and I get out calmly. I have to fight back the urge to grab for Brendon’s hand that’s just swinging by his waist. The hostess inside recognizes us right away and brings us to the private room we had booked. When we enter, sure enough, our moms are already conversing. When they notice us, they stand up, expecting their respected hugs. 

“Ry!” my mom says happily, rushing over to push me into a hug. 

“Hi, Mom.” I greet, a smile instantly pulling onto my face and my nerves going someplace else for now. 

“You look so much older.” she says when we pull away. I give her a look she’s seen before. “I know, I know, I say it all the time. But, I haven’t seen you in forever.” she puts a hand to my hair. “Look how long your hair is.” 

“I tried to convince him to get it cut.” Brendon flashes a smile, still having an arm around his own mom. 

“Aw, Brendon, c’mere.” my mom says. 

I watch as Brendon and my mom hug, laughing at how friendly my mom is compared to me. I don’t take offense that Brendon’s mom doesn’t want a hug from me. She just gives me a small smile and I return it. We all sit down, Brendon making sure to sit next to me. I shoot him a happy look when he squeezes my knee. So far, so good. 

“How was Christmas?” my mom asks us once we’re all settled. 

“Uh, really good.” I say, a nervous smile flitting as I look at her. “I mean, not as good as when I’m with all of my family.” I say in a joking matter but I’m not sure if I’m serious or not.

Christmas was actually great with Brendon, though. We stayed up all night Christmas Eve, cuddling on his couch and watching a marathon of old holiday themed movies. We tried making cookies but we must have messed up the recipe so we ended up spitting them into the trash can and drinking half a gallon of milk to cleanse our mouths. It was both disgusting but hilarious at the same time. We woke up at three in the afternoon Christmas morning and exchanged small gifts and then did some things I don’t really want to bring up around our moms. 

“It was great.” Brendon assures both moms. “We made these awful cookies and watched stupid movies.” 

“Seems just like home.” Brendon’s mom teases. “Hopefully, you didn’t catch the cookies on fire, this time.” 

“That was one time!” Brendon complains, blushing slightly. 

“You’ve started cookies on fire?” I ask, a serious face jokingly making its way onto my features. “Am I housing with an arsonist?” 

“You live together?” Brendon’s mom asks. 

I exchange a look with Brendon, who seems slightly put off by his mom’s comment. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t I tell you that?” he asks, sounding like he’s trying not to sound frustrated. 

“Nope.” his mom says, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. 

Suddenly a waiter appears and saves us from dying in a sea of awkwardness. She takes our drink orders and leaves us to look through the menus. It gets silent as everyone reads through the lengthy items available here. As I’m trying to debate over whether I want chicken or fish, Brendon’s finger is poking at my menu. I read the word he has his finger over: Chicken Breast. I look over to him and he’s obviously holding in a string of giggles. I push him slightly. 

“You’re so goddamn immature.” I tell him quietly. 

We both start cracking up, even if I think it’s the stupidest reason for two gay guys to be laughing about. I hit Brendon playfully with the menu and he does the same. We end up getting into a game of hitting each other laughing so loudly that Brendon ends up snorting and I kick him from under the table. After a few minutes we realize both our moms are staring at us like we’re delusional. 

“Sorry.” Brendon and I say at the same time, only making us crack up more. 

The waiter comes back after a while of silence, taking our orders and promising a quick wait. We hand her our menus and I stop myself from whacking Brendon with it one more time. 

“When does filming start?” Brendon’s mom asks, going off from the small snippets of information I told her maybe a week ago. 

“A couple weeks.” Brendon says, cocking his head slightly as if he’s trying to remember the exact date. 

“February twelfth.” I fill in for him. 

The last season ended a while ago, Brendon pulling off an amazing acting job. It’s set to have another season and Brendon was called back to do more before he has to go on another tour. It’ll be awful to watch Brendon leave on tour but I have one before him. It’s a shame our dates don’t correspond at all. Basically, I leave for a tour and then I come back and then he leaves. It’s disheartening but we’ll be able to see each other on tour. Plus, tours usually spend a couple nights in Chicago. 

“And the new album?” my mom asks. 

“Next Thursday.” I say, glancing nervously at Brendon. 

While I had a giant mess of songs, I only showed the band a few of my favorites. They really liked them and the whole album was essentially written by me. All of the songs I had started on acoustic so everyone had to put them into full songs. It was debated if we should just make an acoustic album, but the decision was easy to choose a full band sound. 

The reason I give Brendon weary looks whenever the album is brought up around him is because he is the album. Song after song is about our relationship from the start and now. The album is essentially: Fuck You, I Fucking Miss You, and I’m Glad We’re Fucking Again. Quaint. There are two exceptions, the song I wrote with my dad and one I wrote for my dad. I had no expectations for it, considering he’ll never hear it and I could write whatever I wanted. 

“Maybe this time I’ll be able to buy a physical copy.” my mom laughs effortlessly. 

“Just wait until they stock the shelves. You need to have dedication, Mom.” I tell her. 

“Oh, like you did with the Established Heroes records.” my mom says, her eyes flickering over to the man who helped make the albums I waited for. 

“I only waited for an hour and it was only for the Illusion deluxe edition.” I tell mainly Brendon who is looking rather amused at my mom’s embarrassing stories. 

“Dude, I don’t even have a copy of that.” Brendon laughs, obviously not caring about my fanboy methods. 

“Yes you do, Brendon.” his mom tells the group. “You still have a box full of all of your own CD’s.” 

Our waiter brings us our food and I take my time folding my napkin and placing it onto my lap. I stingily watch Brendon, who just starts devouring his meal. “Oh my god.” he moans, mouth full of food. “This is so good.” 

“Brendon.” his mom and I say warningly to him at the same time. Brendon merely smiles and my mom starts laughing. 

“I’m sorry, but this is delicious. Like, I don’t even know what this is, but it’s great.” he declares, piling more of the questionable substance onto his fork. 

“Lemme try.” I demand. 

“Can I have some of yours, then?” he asks nicely, his eyes widening. 

“Yeah.” I tell him, my fork swooping into his plate. I have to use my fingers to get whatever it is onto my fork but Brendon doesn’t seem to mind. “You were right; this is amazing.” 

I watch as our moms give us interestingly worried looks. I guess we’ve been kind of couple-y tonight but at least we haven’t been sharing kisses and holding hands. I mean, I think we probably would be if it wasn’t for the waiter that keeps visiting us. Coming into this meal, Brendon and I agreed we wouldn’t act like we weren’t in a relationship. Both of our parents know so there’s no point to hide it. 

“Yours isn’t that great.” Brendon says, licking his silverware clean and going back to his plate. 

I roll my eyes and wait for someone to initiate a conversation. There are probably a thousand conversations I could be having with my mom right now, but it sounds weird to talk about some things in front of Brendon’s mom. I’ll probably end up spending a night with just my mom before she leaves. Brendon will most likely do the same and we’ll end up telling each other all about it when we get home. 

“Oh, on the plane over I was catching up on the show,” my mom starts. I try to hold in my cringe, “and I was watching the one where you two kiss and you guys are adorable.” 

“Don’t think that for long.” Brendon warns, side-glancing me with a knowing look. 

My mom only looks confused so I try to help her out. “Mom, how do you think they got rid of me on the show?” 

“Don’t ruin it for her!” Brendon’s mom speaks up. She turns to my mom. “Don’t listen to them, they’re delusional.” 

“Oh, I knew that.” my mom says, eyeing us. They both start laughing. 

“We’re not delusional.” Brendon tells me. “Are we?” 

I give him a sad look and then nod my head. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

We finish our meals, sparse conversation here and there. Brendon explains that right before my tour begins we’ll head back to California and rent an apartment together. We both promise to get some of our junk from our respected houses and that we’ll live near them. 

Once our check is paid for, Brendon and I both paying half after a long, but slightly adorable, fight, we are finally left alone without the waiter. I hug my mom and even Brendon’s mom goodbye and it seems like everything just might work out. 

I wrap an arm around Brendon’s waist, giving him a quick kiss. I can feel our mothers’ disapproving eyes on us. It’s not the best idea for us to kiss in public but I don’t care. Brendon returns it, a happy smile donning his face the second we move apart. 

“Hey,” I say quietly, Brendon not needing it to have his full attention on me. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Ry.” 

There’s a flash of light and I instantly feel terrified. I look around to see my mom holding up her phone happily. “Sorry, yeah, I bet that was weird. But you two are so cute.” 

“Really, Mom?” 

“Can you send that to me?” Brendon’s mom asks and then they get developed into switching phone numbers and photos. 

I look back to Brendon, having only tightened my grip on him. He’s giving me a sweet smile and I don’t bother looking around before I give him another kiss.


End file.
